THE 


By  T.   S.  .ARTHUR. 


PHILADELPHIA: 
J.  W.  BRADLEY,  48  N.  FOURTH  ST. 

A17BVRN,  2V.  K:    II.  A.  YATES,  57   GENESEE    STREET. 
NEW  HAVEN:  M.  BRADLEY,  24  HIGH  ST. 

1854. 


ENTERED  ACCORDING  TO  ACT  OF  CONGRESS,  IN  THE  TEAS.  1864,  BT 
T.  S.  ARTHUR, 

TOE  CLERK'S  OFFICE  Of  THE  DISTRICT  COURT  OF  THE  UNITED  STATES  IN 
AND  FOR  THE  EASTERN  DISTRICT  OF  PENNSYLVANIA. 


STEREOTYPED  BY  L.  JOHNSON  AND  CO. 
PHILADELPHIA. 


PREFACE. 


IN  the  "  Golden  Age/'  angels  were  the  companions  of 
men,  holding  their  spirits  in  immediate  relationship  with 
heaven.  But,  as  the  gold  of  celestial  innocence  became 
dimmed  by  the  breath  of  self-love — the  parent  of  all 
evil — angels  receded ;  and  farther  and  farther  they  re 
moved  themselves,  as  men  darkened  their  spirits  with 
sin,  until  even  a  perception  of  their  existence  faded  from 
the  mind. 

As  it  was  in  the  "  Golden  Age"  of  the  world,  so  is  it 
in  the  first,  or  "Golden  Age"  of  each  individual  life, 
when  the  innocence  of  infancy  finds  angel-companionship. 
Whoever  holds  a  babe  to  her  bosom,  and  holds  it  there 
lovingly,  comes  within  the  sphere  of  angelic  influences; 
for,  with  infants  and  little  children,  angels  are  intimately 
near.  This  is  seen  in  the  tender  love  that  fills  the  heart 
of  even  a  wicked  mother,  when  she  clasps  her  helpless 
offspring  in  her  arms — a  love  flowing  forth  from  heaven, 
and  breathed  into  her  spirit  by  the  angels  who  are  with 
her  babe. 

Into  every  household  angels  may  enter.  They  come 
in  through  the  gate  of  infancy,  and  bring  with  them  ce 
lestial  influences.  Are  there  angels  in  your  household  ? 
If  so,  cherish  the  heavenly  visitants. 


M116081 


THE 

ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD. 


CHAPTER  I. 

"  BEDLAM  let  loose !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Harding,  pas 
sionately,  as  he  started  up  from  the  corner,  near  the 
fire,  where  he  had  been  sitting  moodily  since  supper- 
time.  "  Silence  !  or  I'll  break  some  of  your  bones  !" 

The  children,  who  had  been  wrangling,  suddenly 
ceased  their  noisy  strife,  and  shrunk  back  from  their 
angry  father,  who,  advancing  toward  them,  seemed  half 
inclined  to  put  his  rough  threat  into  execution. 

"  There,  now !  don't  talk  and  act  like  a  savage !" 
sharply  ejaculated  the  wife  and  mother,  throwing  from 
her  coal-black  eyes  a  scornful  glance  upon  her  husband. 
"  If  I  couldn't  speak  to  children  in  a  better  way  than 
that,  I'd  not  speak  at  all." 

We  will  not  put  on  record  the  brutal  retort  of  Jacob 
Harding,  as  he  almost  flung  himself  from  the  room; 
throwing  over,  in  his  mad  haste,  little  Lotty,  the  youngest 
member  of  his  unpromising  flock,  who  happened  to  be  in 
his  way.  The  loud  slamming  of  the  door,  and  the  wild 
screaming  of  the  child,  mingled  for  the  excited  mother's 
ears  their  sounds  discordant. 

r 


8     ;  'yjhTANGEtiOfc  THE   HOUSEHOLD. 


"  He'd  better  break  my  bones  I"  said  the  oldest  boy, 
Andrew,  in  looks  and  attitude  the  picture  of  defiance. 
"I'd  just  like  to  see  him  try  it." 

"  Hush  this  instant,  you  little  vagabond  !  How  dare 
you  speak  so  of  your  father  ?" 

"I  don't  care!  He's  not  going  to  break  my  bones." 
And  the  young  rebel,  not  over  eight  years  of  age,  drew 
himself  up,  while  his  eyes,  black  as  his  mother's,  flashed 
with  boyish  indignation. 

"If  you  say  that  again,  I'll  box  your  ears  off!"  And 
Mrs.  Harding  took  two  long  strides  toward  the  lad,  who, 
knowing  something  about  the  weight  of  her  hand,  shrunk, 
muttering,  away,  and  contented  himself  with  thinking  all 
manner  of  rebellious  things,  and  purposing  all  kinds  of 
disobedience. 

For  a  few  minutes,  after  Lotty  ceased  crying,  there  was 
silence  in  the  room  •  not  a  pleasant,  but  a  gloomy,  forced 
silence.  Then  Lucy,  six  years  old,  and  Philip,  between 
four  and  five,  who  had  been  frightened  from  their  play 
by  the  scene  just  described,  drew  together  once  more, 
and  commenced  rebuilding  a  block  house,  which  Andrew 
had  wantonly  thrown  down.  Their  work,  as  it  again  pro 
gressed,  this  bad  boy  watched  with  an  evil  eye,  and,  just 
as  it  was  near  completion,  wantonly  swept  again  the  fabric 
into  ruins.  Unable  to  control  their  indignation  at  this 
second  unprovoked  violation  of  their  rights,  the  outraged 
brother  and  sister,  as  if  moved  by  a  single  impulse,  threw 
themselves  upon  Andrew,  and  with  fists,  nails,  and  teeth, 
sought  to  do  him  all  the  injury  in  their  power.  Fierce 
was  the  struggle,  and  long  would  it  have  continued,  but 
.  the  mother's  interference.  She  did  not  stop  to  sepa 
rate  them,  but,  with  her  open  hand,  dealt  each  such 
rapid  and  vigorous  blows  about  the  head  and  ears,  that 
they  were  soon  glad  to  retreat,  crying  with  pain,  into 
opposite  parts  of  the  room. 

"Now,  off  to  bed  with  you  this  instant!''  exclaimed 


THE   ANGEL   OF   THE    HOUSEHOLD.  9 

the  angry  mother,  "  and  if  I  hear  a  word  between  you, 
I'll  come  up  with  a  switch  and  cut  you  half  to  pieces." 

Andrew,  Lucy,  and  Philip  glided  from  the  room, 
keeping  silent  through  fear,  for  they  understood  their 
mother's  present  mood  well  enough  to  know  that  it 
would  be  dangerous  to  provoke  her  further. 

"  Come !  let  me  undress  you,"  said  Mrs.  Harding  to 
Lotty.  There  was  nothing  gentle,  nothing  of  motherly 
love  in  the  tones  of  her  voice.  The  waters  of  her  spirit 
were  agitated  by  a  storm,  and  the  sky  above  them  was 
dark. 

"I  don't  want  to  go  to  bed,"  answered  the  child, 
fretfully. 

"Come  here  this  instant,  I  say!"  cried  the  mother, 
with  threatening  look  and  tone. 

"I  don't  want  to  go  to  bed,"  repeated  Lotty. 

"  D'ye  hear  ?     Come  this  minute  !" 

But  the  child,  instead  of  obeying  her  mother,  shrunk 
away  into  the  farthest  corner  of  the  room. 

"If  I  have  to  come  to  you,  miss,  you'll  be  sorry; 
now,  mind !" 

Most  children  would  have  been  frightened  at  the  dark, 
threatening  eyes  that  almost  flashed  with  cruelty;  but 
Lotty  was  self-willed,  and  strong  to  endure,  though  but 
a  child.  She  inherited  a  large  portion  of  her  mother's 
peculiar  spirit.  Instead  of  yielding  to  this  threat,  she 
crouched  down  in  the  corner,  and  cast  back  at  her  mother 
a  look  of  defiance.  Mrs.  Harding  was  in  no  mood  for  a 
long  parley.  There  were  times  when  the  mother  in  her 
was  strong;  and  then,  for  the  sake  of  her  wayward,  self- 
willed  child,  she  would  patiently  strive  with  her,  and  use 
all  gentler  efforts  to  bend  her  to  obedience.  But  now 
the  mother  had  given  place  to  the  passionate  woman.  It 
was  one  of  her  hours  of  darkness,  when  all  the  evil  of  her 
perverse  nature  had  sway.  A  few  moments  she  fixed 
her  eyes  upon  those  of  Lotty,  throwing  into  them,  as  she 


10        THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD. 


did  so,  a  fiercer  light ;  but  this  failing  to  intimidate  the 
stubborn  child,  all  patience  gave  way,  and  she  darted 
toward  her  with  something  like  a  tiger's  spring.  Seizing 
the  still  resisting  little  one,  Mrs.  Harding  jerked  her 
from  the  corner  into  which  she  had  retreated,  and  as  she 
lifted  her  up  into  the  air,  struck  her  three  or  four  hard 
blows  in  quick  succession. 

Did  Lotty  lie  still  now  in  her  arms,  or  stand  passively 
by  her  side  ?  Not  so.  The  spirit  of  rebellion  was  like 
a  young  giant  in  her  heart,  and  blows  only  quickened 
this  spirit  into  more  vigorous  life.  The  child  screamed 
and  struggled,  and  even  struck  her  mother  in  the  face. 
Such  resistance  to.  her  will  only  made  Mrs.  Harding 
blindly  resolute.  More  smarting  and  longer  continued 
blows  were  returned,  and  to  these  was  added  such  a  mad 
shaking  of  the  child,  as  she  held  her  out  with  both  hands 
in  the  air,  that  Lotty,  losing  her  breath,  became  fright 
ened,  and  ceased  her  struggles. 

"I'll  break  that  stubborn  spirit  of  yours,  if  I  kill 
you !"  said  the  mother,  with  cruel  triumph  in  her  tones, 
as  she  set  Lotty  down  upon  the  floor  heavily.  With 
impatient  hands  the  garments  were  almost  torn  from  the 
little  one's  body,  and  replaced  by  her  night-gown.  Then, 
without  an  evening  prayer,  a  kiss,  or  a  kind  good-night, 
she  was  placed  in  bed ;  her  only  benediction  an  almost 
savage  threat  of  consequences,  should  a  single  word  pass 
her  lips. 

All  was  silent  now  in  the  house.  The  older  children 
had  fallen  quickly  to  sleep,  and  Lotty,  subdued  by  the 
power  of  fear,  restrained  the  rebel  cries  that  were  almost 
bursting  her  heart  for  utterance.  She,  too,  soon  passed 
into  the  world  of  dreams.  Was  it  a  beautiful  world  to 
her,  poor  child?  or  did  haunting  images,  terrible  in 
shape,  follow  her  there  from  the  real  world  in  which  she 
daily  struggled  and  suffered  ? 

Alone,  with  not  a  sound  on  the  air  but  an  occasional 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD.        11 

sob  from  Lotty,  the  tumult  of  whoso  feelings  even  sleep 
had  not  entirely  subdued,  Mrs.  Harding' s  state  of  mind 
underwent  a  gradual  transition.  There  are  few  in  whose 
spirit  subsiding  anger  does  not  leave  its  debris  of  sad 
emotions,  or  painful  self-condemnation.  It  had  ever 
been  so  in  the  case  of  Mrs.  Harding,  yet  had  she  not 
seemed  to  grow  wiser  by  suffering.  With  every  new 
cause  of  excitement,  her  quick  temper  fired  up  and 
burned  its  little  hour  fiercely ;  and,  ever  as  the  fire  died 
out,  her  spirit  felt  colder  than  before,  and  groped  sadly 
in  a  deeper  darkness.  And  it  was  so  again.  How  re- 
bukingly  upon  this  state  came,  now  in  a  single  deep 
sigh,  and  now  in  fluttering  sobs,  the  grief  of  her  self- 
willed  child,  prolonged  even  into  slumber.  So  painful 
was  this  sound  at  length,  that  Mrs.  Harding  went  softly 
and  closed  the  door  that  opened  into  the  room  where 
Lotty  was  sleeping.  But,  through  the  shut  door,  came, 
ever  and  anon,  the  sigh  or  sob,  each  time  smiting  her  ear 
sadly,  and  adding  to  the  gloomy  depression  from  which 
she  was  now  suffering.  Nor  was  this  the  only  cause  of 
self-upbraiding.  She  was  alone,  and  why  ?  Sharp,  in 
sulting  words,  striking  on  the  ears  of  her  impatient  hus 
band,  had  driven  him,  as  the  same  cause  had  before, 
times  without  number,  from  home,  to  spend  his  evenings 
at  the  tavern,  among  scenes  and  associates  of  a  degrading 
character.  Ah !  how  often  and  often  had  the  unhappy 
wife,  as  she  sat  through  the  lonely  evening  hours,  wept 
far  the  absence  of  him  whom  her  blind  passion  had  driven 
forth — even  from  the  hearth  her  presence  might  have 
made  warm  and  attractive. 

Alas !  that  suffering  taught  not  this  ill-governed 
woman  its  lessons  of  wisdom.  That  remembered  anguish 
did  not  act  as  a  stimulus  to  self-control.  Ever  as  a  leaf 
in  the  wind  was  she,  when  the  gust  of  passion  arose.  As 
it  had  been  with  her  many,  many  times,  so  was  it  now. 
She  was  too  unhappy  for  any  thing  but  tears ;  and  so, 


12        THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD. 

letting  the  work  she  had  taken  up  fall  into  her  lap,  she 
drew  her  hands  over  her  face,  and  sat  idle,  weeping,  and 
miserable.  A  knock  on  the  door  disturbed  her  wretched 
mood.  It  was  night,  and  their  house  stood  at  some  dis 
tance  from  the  nearest  neighbour.  Mrs.  Harding  was  no 
timid  woman;  yet  this  summons  startled  her,  not  be 
cause  it  was  bold  and  imperative ;  on  the  contrary,  it  was 
low  and  hesitating. 

«  Who's  there  ?" 

She  had  risen  up  quickly,  and  now  stood  in  a  hearken 
ing  attitude. 

No  voice  replied,  but  the  same  singular  knock  was 
repeated. 

"  Who's  there,  I  say  ?" 

Sharp  though  her  tones  were,  a  slight  tremor  betrayed 
a  secret  fear. 

No  answer. 

"  Come  in." 

A  hand  was  on  the  door  knob.  It  seemed  like  the 
hand  of  a  child,  and  failed  in  the  apparent  effort  to  gain 
admittance.  Mrs.  Harding  distinctly  heard  the  rustle  of 
a  woman's  garments.  She  tried  to  repeat  the  words 
"  Come  in ;"  but  a  strange  fear  prevented  utterance. 
Almost  as  fixed  as  a  statue,  she  stood  gazing  at  the  door, 
which,  after  a  little  while,  swung  quietly  open.  Her 
eyes  caught  a  momentary  glimpse  of  a  white  garment^ 
and  then  she  looked  vainly  into  the  deep  darkness. 
There  was  no  form  visible. 

"  Who's  there  ?"  she  cried,  after  a  brief  pause ;  but 
silence  was  the  only  answer. 

As  she  still  gazed  through  the  open  door,  her  eyes, 
penetrating  farther  into  the  gloomy  vail  of  night,  saw 
dimly  an  object  on  the  ground.  Advancing  across  the 
room  a  few  steps,  she  was  able  to  perceive  distinctly 
that  this  object  was  a  large  basket,  covered  with  a  cloth. 

«  Who's  there  ?     What's  wanted  ?" 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD.        13 


Again  she  sought  an  answer;  but  no  response  came. 
Boldly  now  she  stepped  to  the  door,  and  bending  her 
body  out,  peered  farther  into  the  darkness;  but  there 
was  no  movement  nor  sound  that  indicated  the  presence 
of  friend  or  stranger.  Close  by  the  door-step  stood  the 
basket.  She  stretched  forth  a  hand,  and  made  an  effort 
to  raise  it  from  the  ground  ;  but  to  do  this  required  the 
exercise  of  considerable  strength. 

"  This  is  strange  !  What  can  it  mean  ?"  said  she  to 
herself,  again  searching  with  her  eyes  into  the  surround 
ing  darkness. 

"Jacob!  Jacob!" 

A  thought  that  her  husband  might  have  brought  the 
basket,  flitting  across  her  mind,  prompted  her  to  call  his 
name. 

But  no  answer  came  back  upon  the  quiet  air,  that  bore 
her  voice  afar  off,  until  it  died  in  the  distance.  Why 
does  she  start  so  ?  A  low  smothered  cry,  like  that  of  an 
infant,  has  come  suddenly  upon  her  ear ;  from  whence, 
she  is  in  no  doubt,  for  already  she  has  lifted  the  basket, 
and  is  bearing  it  into  the  house. 

How  wildly  excited  was  the  countenance  of  Mrs.  Hard 
ing,  as  she  stooped  down,  and  with  unsteady  hand  re 
moved  the  white  napkin  that  covered  the  basket.  The 
sight  revealed  would  have  touched  a  harder  heart  than 
hers.  A  babe,  only  a  few  weeks  old,  lifted  to  hers  a 
pair  of  the  softest  blue  eyes  that  ever  reflected  the  light; 
and  as  it  did  so,  fluttered  its  little  hands,  and  showed  all 
the  instinctive  eagerness  of  an  infant  to  be  clasped  to  a 
mother's  bosom. 

Now,  with  all  the  hardness  and  passionate  self-will  of 
the  woman,  up  into  whose  face  this  helpless,  innocent 
stranger  looked,  there  was  a  warm  chamber  in  her  heart, 
over  the  door  of  which  was  written  "  mother ;"  and  the 
hand  of  an  angel  opened  this  door  to  admit  the  babe  so 
cruelly  abandoned.  Her  first  impulse  was  obeyed — that 
2 


14        THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD. 

prompted  her  to  lift  the  child  quickly  from  the  basket, 
and  fold  it  in  her  arms.  A  sweet,  confiding  smile  played 
softly  around  its  lips ;  and  its  large,  beautiful  eyes  rested 
in  hers  with  an  expression  so  full  of  loving  confidence, 
that  she  felt  her  whole  bosom  warming  with  love,  and 
yearning  toward  it  with  inexpressible  tenderness.  The 
kiss  that  could  not  be  withheld  from  the  rosy  lips  that 
parted  to  receive  the  salutation,  was  the  kiss  of  a  mother. 

Ere  there  was  time  for  reflection  or  observation,  the 
babe  had  won  its  way  into  the  heart  of  Mrs.  Harding. 
The  door  still  remained  open  as  she  had  left  it  in  the  ex 
citement  incident  to  bearing  in  the  basket.  Mrs.  Hard 
ing,  now  aware  of  this,  arose,  still  holding  the  child  in 
her  arms,  and  crossed  the  room  to  shut  the  door.  Was 
it  really  so ;  or  did  her  imagination  create  the  picture  ? 
Be  this  as  it  may,  just  in  the  dusky  extreme  of  the  circle 
of  light  made  by  the  rays  pouring  out  from  her  lamp, 
she  saw  the  form  of  a  woman.  The  face  was  distinct, 
and  its  expression  never  to  be  forgotten.  It  was  a  young 
face,  very  sad,  very  full,  and  very  beautiful.  The  hands 
were  clasped  tightly  together,  and  the  figure  seemed 
bending  forward  eagerly.  For  a  moment  or  two  the 
vision  was  distinct;  then  it  faded  slowly,  and  the  eyes 
of  Mrs.  Harding  saw  nothing  but  darkness 

Closing  the  door,  with  a  strange  feeling  about  her 
heart,  she  went  back  to  where  the  basket  stood  upon  the 
floor,  and,  seating  herself  beside  it,  the  babe  on  her  lap, 
commenced  an  examination  into  its  contents,  with  the 
hope  of  gaining  some  light  on  the  mysterious  circum 
stance.  But  nothing  here  gave  her  the  least  clue  to  the 
parentage  of  the  child,  or  made  clear  the  reasons  for 
committing  it  to  her  tender  mercies.  In  the  basket  were 
four  or  five  full  changes  of  clothes,  most  of  them  made 
of  good,  but  not  very  fine  material,  except  the  white 
flannel  skirts,  which  were  soft  as  down,  and  of  the 
choicest  quality.  These  were  not  so  new  as  the  other 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD.        15 


articles.     No  letter  was  to  be  found  in  the  basket ;  nor 
did  it  contain  any  money. 

While  Mrs.  Harding  was  thus  seeking  for  all  possible 
light  in  regard  to  the  babe,  it  had  fallen  asleep  in  her 
arms,  unconscious  that  any  great  change  had  taken  place 
in  its  fortunes  or  friends,  and  as  happy  in  its  slumbers  as 
when  it  nestled  on  its  mother's  bosom — if,  indeed,  it  had 
ever  known  that  blessed  privilege.  Perceiving  this,  arid 
affected  with  a  new  tenderness  as  she  gazed  down  upon 
its  face — one  of  uncommon  sweetness,  even  for  a  babe — 
she  sat  for  many  minutes  with  her  eyes  upon  its  counte 
nance.  Her  gaze  seemed  held  there  as  if  by  a  kind  of 
fascination.  What  a  yearning  love  grew  up  in  her  heart, 
gaining  strength  every  moment !  She  wondered  at  her 
own  feelings. 

Kising  now,  and  holding  the  child  with  exceeding 
care,  she  passed  into  the  next  room — her  own  chamber, 
where  Lotty  was  sleeping — and  gently  laid  the  sweet  young 
stranger  in  her  bed.  Here  she  lingered  for  some  time, 
leaning  over  and  looking  upon  the  child.  Once  or  twice 
she  left  the  bed,  and  went  as  far  as  the  door,  purposing 
to  leave  the  chamber.  But  a  strange  attraction  drew  her 
to  the  babe  again  and  again,  and  each  time  it  seemed 
that  its  face  had  acquired  a  newer  beauty. 

At  last,  Mrs.  Harding  compelled  herself  to  leave  the 
apartment;  and  as  she  did  so,  she  closed  the  door  softly. 
Sitting  down  by  the  basket,  she  commenced  a  new  exa 
mination  of  its  contents.  This  was  as  fruitless  of  intelli 
gence  as  the  first.  Not  a  mark  nor  sign  was  there,  to  tell 
from  whence  the  infant  came. 

Half  an  hour  elapsed,  and  still  Mrs.  Harding  sat 
musing  over  the  basket,  her  mind  incapable  of  finding, 
for  the  present,  interest  in  any  thing  but  what  apper 
tained  to  the  babe. 

Thus  she  was  sitting,  when  the  heavy  tread  of  her 
husband  startled  her  into  painful  consciousness  of  coming 


16        THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD. 


trouble.  Jacob  had  never  been  very  fond  of  children— 
not  even  of  his  own,  toward  whom  he  had  shown  but 
little  tenderness.  That  he  would  manifest  only  ill-nature, 
perhaps  give  way  to  violent  passions  as  soon  as  he  learned 
that  a  strange  infant  had  been  left  at  his  door,  she  had 
too  good  reason  to  fear. 

He  came  in  roughly,  as  was  his  wont — shutting  the 
door  heavily  behind  him. 

«  Hush  I" 

Mrs.  Harding  raised  her  hand  involuntarily,  to  enjoin 
silence.  But  her  rude  husband  strode  noisily  across  the 
floor,  heedless  of  her  warning. 

"  What's  that  ?"  he  said,  as  his  eyes  rested  on  the 
strange-looking  basket. 

"  You  would  hardly  guess,"  answered  Mrs.  Harding, 
sneaking  with  a  forced  pleasantness  of  tone,  very  unusual 
with  her  when  addressing  her  husband. 

"  I  shall  hardly  try,"  said  he,  gruffly. 

"  A  strange  thing  has  happened  to-night." 

The  voice  of  Mrs.  Harding  was  not  as  steady  as  she 
wished  it  to  be. 

"  How,  strange?  "What  has  happened?  Who's  been 
here?" 

"  That  basket  was  left  at  our  door  to-night." 

"  By  whom  ?" 

"  I  cannot  tell." 

"  With  somebody's  cast-off  brat  in  it,  I  suppose,"  said 
Harding,  with  a  flush  of  anger  in  his  face,^  for  now  he 
saw  the  baby  clothing  which  his  wife  had  taken  from  the 
basket  and  laid  on  the  table.  "  Is  it  so  ?" 

The  flush  had  deepened  to  a  fiery  glow,  and  his  eyes 
burned  with  indignation. 

"The  basket  contained  a  young  babe,"  said  Mrs. 
Harding  calmly,  and  with  a  mother's  tenderness  in  her 
voice;  "the  sweetest,  loveliest  babe  your  eyes  ever 
rested  upon." 


THE  ANGEL  OP  THE  HOUSEHOLD.        17 

ft  Pshaw  !"  And  Harding  averted  his  face,  on  which 
was  a  look  of  supreme  contempt.  "  I'd  like  to  know," 
he  added,  menacingly,  ll  who  has  dared  do  this  thing  !" 

"  That  we  are  not  likely  soon  to  know/'  said  Mrs. 
Harding.  "  The  basket  contained  only  infant  clothing." 

An  almost  savage  imprecation  leaped  from  the  tongue 
of  Jacob  Harding.  For  a  little  while  he  stormed  about 
the  room  like  a  madman.  Under  almost  any  other  cir 
cumstances,  his  conduct  would  have  kindled  up  in  the 
mind  of  his  wife  as  fierce  a  flame  as  that  which  burned 
in  his  own.  But  a  woman's  true  instincts  subdued  her 
passionate  nature,  usually  so  quick  to  gather  all  its 
forces  for  combat.  Silently  she  waited  for  the  fire  to 
burn  out  in  her  husband's  mind  for  want  of  fresh  fuel, 
that  she  well  knew  how  to  supply. 

"  It  is  such  a  sweet  baby,"  said  Mrs.  Harding,  in  as 
calm  a  voice  as  she  could  assume,  after  her  husband's 
fierce  indignation  had  in  a  measure  consumed  itself. 

"  Humph  !  sweet !"  How  the  selfish,  cruel  animal 
growled !  What  a  look  of  disgust  was  on  his  counte 
nance — scarcely  human  in  its  expression  ! 

Harding  had  come  home  from  the  tavern,  ripe  for  a 
quarrel;  and  he  was  doing  all  in  his  power — impotent 
of  effect  so  far — to  raise  a  storm.  He  had  not  been 
drinking  much  :  only  enough  to  deaden  all  of  true  man 
hood  that  he  possessed,  and  to  quicken  into  active  force 
the  evil  of  his  nature.  He  now  perceived  the  change  in 
his  wife,  and  at  once  divined  the  cause.  The  foundling 
had  won  its  way  into  her  heart,  and  she  was  already 
purposing  to  adopt  it  as  her  own.  The  thought  enraged 
him  anew. 

"  Where  is  the  brat  ?"  he  exclaimed,  starting  up  with 
a  fresh  burst  of  anger.  "  I'll  throw  it  out  of  doors  !" 

"  Better  replace  it  in  the  basket,  poor  thing  !"  answered 
Mrs.  Harding.  "  It  has  done  us  no  harm." 

"  Very  well.  Put  the  duds  back  into  the  basket,  and 
2* 


18        THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD. 


the  child  with  them.  They  shan't  stay  in  my  house 
to-night  I" 

Conscious  that,  if  she  gained  over  her  husband' at  all, 
it  must  be  through  apparent  yielding,  rather  than  resist 
ance  to  his  will,  Mrs.  Harding  commenced  slowly  re 
placing  the  baby  clothes,  as  if  about  to  do  his  bidding. 
A  little  wondering  at  this  passive  acquiescence  on  the 
part  of  his  wife,  Harding  stood  looking  on  while  she  laid 
in  garment  after  garment. 

"  It  is  dark  out,  Jacob,  and  will  be  cold  before  morn 
ing.  And  then  the  dogs,  or  some  other  animal,  might 
hurt  the  poor  helpless  thing." 

"I  don't  care.  It  shan't  stay  in  my  house  to-night. 
I'll  teach  people  better  than  to  leave  their  brats  at  my 
door— I  will !" 

The  man's  stubborn  spirit  was  roused  by  the  remon 
strance  of  his  wife. 

A  deep  sigh  heaved  the  breast  of  Mrs.  Harding,  as  she 
bent  once  more  over  the  basket,  and,  to  gain  time,  made 
some  new  arrangement  of  the  baby  clothes. 

"  Don't  be  all  night  about  it !"  growled  the  savage. 

Mrs.  Harding,  without  a  word  in  reply — a  circum 
stance  that  excited  the  especial  wonder  of  her  husband — 
took  up  the  basket,  and  passed  into  their  chamber,  as  if 
to  do  his  bidding.  Acquiescence  like  this  he  had  been 
far  from  anticipating.  Yet  was  he,  in  the  blindness  of 
evil  passion,  bent  on  thrusting  the  babe  from  his  house. 
The  very  thought  of  it  was  an  offence  to  him. 

"  Jacob !"  It  was  the  voice  of  his  wife,  calling  to 
him  from  the  adjoining  room,  where  she  had  been  for 
several  minutes. 

"  What  do  you  want  ?"  he  answered,  gruffly. 

"  Come  here  a  moment,"  Mrs.  Harding  spoke,  in  a 
mild,  subdued  voice. 

"  You  come  here.  You're  as  able  to  walk  as  I  am/1 
he  retorted. 


THE  ANGEL  OP  THE  HOUSEHOLD.        19 

"  Just  a  minute.     I  want  to  show  you  something." 

Harding  arose  and  went  into  the  room  from  which  his 
wife  had  called  to  him.  In  the  middle  of  the  floor  stood 
the  basket,  and  lying  in  the  basket,  with  its  beautiful 
face  uncovered,  was  the  sleeping  infant. 

"  There  it  is,  Jacob,"  said  Mrs.  Harding,  in  a  low, 
steady  voice.  "  Cast  it  forth,  if  you  have  the  heart  to 
do  so — I  have  not." 

How  suddenly  were  the  man's  steps  arrested !  The 
moment  his  eyes  fell  upon  the  placid  face  of  the  infant, 
so  innocent,  so  peaceful,  so  heavenly  in  expression,  he 
felt  himself  within  the  circle  of  some  strange  power  that 
stilled  the  waves  of  passion  in  his  heart. 

"  Cast  it  forth,  Jacob,  if  you  can,"  repeated  his  wife. 
"  My  hands  would  be  powerless  were  I  to  make  the 
effort." 

A  little  while  Harding  struggled  wi^h  himself  and  the 
new  influences  that  so  suddenly  pervaded  the  atmosphere 
around  him;  then,  with  an  effort,  he  turned  himself 
away,  and  went  back  into  the  room  from  whence  his 
wife  had  called  him. 

Tenderly,  very  tenderly,  did  Mrs.  Harding  lift  the 
sweet  babe,  still  sleeping,  from  the  basket,  and  replace 
it  in  the  bed,  the  moment  her  husband  retired,  van 
quished  by  weapons  his  fierce  manhood  despised,  yet 
against  which  he  had  no  shield  of  defence.  For  some 
time  she  bent  over  the  baby,  gazing  upon  its  face ;  and 
it  was  only  with  an  effort  that  she  could  tear  herself 
away. 

"  You'd  better  keep  it  all  night,"  said  Harding,  as 
his  wife  entered  the  room  where  he  was  sitting.  His 
voice,  though  untouched  by  gentler  feelings,  was  not  so 
harsh  and  cruel  as  before.  "  Some  harm  might  come  to 
it,  and  then  we'd  be  blamed.  To-morrow  I'D  have  it 
sent  to  the  poor-house,  if  no  owner  can  be  found." 

Mrs.  Harding  sighed,  but  said  nothing  in  reply.     She 


20        THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD. 


was  afraid  to  express  what  was  in  her  mind,  for,  by 
years  of  sad  experience,  she  knew  that  for  her  to  express 
a  wish,  or  to  approve  a  measure,  was  to  insure  her  hus 
band's  opposition;  and,  in  truth,  it  must  be  told,  that 
she  had  proved  no  inapt  scholar  in  the  same  bad  school 
where  he  had  learned  his  lessons  of  ill-nature  and  boot 
less  contention. 

"  I  only  wish  I  could  find  out  who  has  dared  to  do 
this  miserable  deed,"  resumed  Harding,  his  anger  grow 
ing  warm  again.  "  A  wild  beast  never  deserts  her 
young.  The  wretch  should  be  gibbeted  alive." 

As  he  said  this,  a  cry  arose  from  the  chamber. 

"  There  it  is !  A  nice  time  you'll  have  with  it  to 
night." 

Mrs.  Harding  went  quickly  in  to  the  babe,  that  was 
now  awake.  She  lifted  it  gently  in  her  arms,  and,  as 
she  drew  it  to  he*  breast,  it  commenced  nestling  there, 
seeking  for  the  fountain  of  its  life — alas  !  so  suddenly  and 
so  cruelly  cut  off.  How  deeply  was  the  heart  of  its  new 
friend  stirred  by  this  movement !  What  a  yearning  pity 
pervaded  her  bosom  ! 

"  Dear,  dear  child  I"  she  murmured,  as  she  bent  down 
her  face,  and  placed  that  of  the  infant's  closely  against 
it.  Holding  it  thus,  she  went  out  into  the  room  where 
her  husband  still  remained. 

"  Won't  you  get  me  a  little  milk  in  a  cup,  and  some 
sugar  and  warm  water,  Jacob?  The  poor  child  is 
hungry." 

Harding,  with  considerable  reluctance,  went  off, 
grumbling,  to  do  as  his  wife  desired.  The  milk  and 
warm  water  were  brought,  and,  as  he  set  them  on  the 
table,  he  could  not  restrain  the  utterance  of  an  ill- 
natured  remark.  To  this  no  answer  was  returned. 

Much  to  the  relief  and  pleasure  of  Mrs.  Harding,  the 
babe  drank  freely  from  the  spoon  which  was  placed  to  its 
lips.  Evidently,  it  had  been  prepared  for  this  great 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD.        21 

change  in  its  life  by  those  who  contemplated  abandoning 
it  to  strangers.  Somehow,  Harding's  eyes  remained 
riveted  on  the  face  of  the  child,  as  it  took  the  food  pre 
pared  by  his  wife ;  and,  strangely  enough,  the  longer  he 
gazed  upon  it,  the  gentler  became  his  feelings.  The 
human  in  him  began  to  rise  above  the  bestial. 

"No  punishment  is  bad  enough  for  the  wretch  who 
could  desert  a  child  like  that,"  said  he,  his  ready  indig 
nation  taking  a  new  direction.  "  It  was  fiend-like. " 

"  You  may  well  say  that,  Jacob,"  returned  his  wife, 
as  she  drew  the  babe's  head  back  upon  her  bosom,  and 
looked  down  tenderly  upon  its  face.  "Isn't  it  beau 
tiful  ?" 

"I  never  saw  any  thing  very  beautiful  in  babies/' 
said  the  man,  a  little  impatiently.  He  was  worried  with 
himself  because  of  the  involuntary  interest  in  the  little 
stranger  that  was  awakening  in  his  mind. 

"  Oh  !  how  can  you  say  so  ?" 

Something  of  the  sweetness  of  bygone  years  was  in 
the  voice  of  Mrs.  Harding,  and  something  of  the  maiden 
beauty  in  her  face  that  had  won  the  heart  of  her  hus 
band  in  the  long-ago  time;  at  least  so  it  seemed  to 
Jacob  Harding. 

"  It  is  true,  Mary,"  he  answered,  even  smiling  briefly, 
as  he  spoke. 

"There  is  beauty  here — beauty  that  even  your  eyea 
can  see.  Dear  little  angel !  It  has  come  to  us  like  a 
ray  of  sunshine,  Jacob.  You  don't  know  what  strange 
feelings  I  have  had  ever  since  I  looked  into  this  sweet 
countenance.  More  like  a  heaven-born  than  an  earthly 
child  the  babe  stems  to  me ;  and  now,  as  it  lies  so  close 
against  my  bosom,  I  feel  such  a  pleasant  thrill  going 
deep,  deep,  even  to  the  centre  of  my  heart,  that  I  wonder 
as  to  the  cause." 

"  You  are  foolish,  Mary,"  said  Harding,  kindly. 

"  Maybe  I  am,"  she  replied,  "  but  I  can't  help  it. 


22        THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD. 


Now  it  is  fast  asleep  again  !  Did  you  ever  see  such  per 
fect  lashes  for  a  babe  ?  They  lie  in  a  dark  line  upon  its 
cheeks  like  the  long  lashes  of  a  woman.  Let  me  place  it 
in  bed  again." 

Mrs.  Harding  arose  and  turned  to  go  into  the  bed 
room.  As  she  did  so,  her  foot  caught  in  the  carpet, 
and  she  would  have  fallen  forward  had  not  her  husband, 
whose  eyes  were  on  her,  or,  rather,  on  the  babe,  sprung 
instantly  forward  and  caught  her. 

"  Don't  let  it  fall,"  he  cried,  eagerly,  stretching  his 
arms  around  and  beyond  her,  so  as  to  save  the  child. 
The  act  was  involuntary;  but  it  betrayed,  both  to  his 
wife  and  himself,  the  strong  hold  that  weak,  helpless, 
unconscious  infant  had  already  gained  upon  his  rugged 
heart.  How  this  betrayal  caused  the  warm  blood  to 
leap  joyfully  through  the  veins  of  Mrs.  Harding ! 
When  she  returned  from  the  bed-room,  and  addressed 
her  husband,  he  answered  in  milder  tones  than  he  had 
spoken  to  her  in  many  days — weeks  and  months  we 
might  almost  have  ventured  to  affirm. 

"  There's  something  uncommon  about  the  child,  that's 
certain,"  he  said,  as  they  talked  together ;  "  and  I  shall 
not  feel  just  right  about  sending  it  off  to  the  poor-house. 
But  it  can't  stay  here,  for  we've  enough  of  our  own,  and 
it's  as  much  as  I  can  do  to  fill  their  mouths." 

To  this  Mrs.  Harding  answered  nothing.  So  far,  the 
babe  had  been  its  own  all-sufficient  advocate,  and  she 
felt  that  words  from  her  might  prejudice  rather  than 
advance  its  cause. 

As  husband  and  wife  laid  their  heads  upon  their  pil 
lows  that  night,  each  felt  a  calmness  of  spirit  hitherto 
unknown.  Selfish  passions  were  at  rest,  and  higher  and 
purer  emotions — so  long  held  down  by  evil — stirred  with 
a  new  life,  and  opened  the  windows  of  their  hearts  for 
the  influx  of  celestial  influences. 


THE  ANGEL  OP  THE  HOUSEHOLD.        23 


CHAPTER  II. 

As  Mrs.  Harding  lay  watchful  and  musing  on  her 
pillow  that  night,  she  wondered  at  her  state  of  feeling. 
Could  the  mere  presence  of  a  babe  effect  so  great  a 
change  ?  Four  times  had  she  been  a  mother,  and  four 
times  she  had  felt,  as  a  helpless  babe,  just  born  into  the 
world,  was  laid  against  her  heart,  an  indescribable  joy. 
Too  soon  had  this  passed  away — too  soon  had  her  briefly 
slumbering  passions  awakened  to  fresh  activity — too  soon 
had  the  trials  and  temptations  of  her  position  changed 
the  heavenly  tenderness  that  pervaded  her  spirit  into 
harshness  or  indifference.  She  remembered  all  this,  and 
wondered  how  she  could  ever  have  indulged  in  anger 
toward  the  little  ones  for  whose  gift  her  heart  had  felt 
such  deep  thankfulness. 

How  distinctly  present  to  the  eyes  of  her  mind  were 
Andrew,  and  Lucy,  and  Philip,  and  Lotty !  Not  with 
faces  marred,  as  was,  alas !  too  often  the  case,  by  selfish 
and  cruel  passions,  but  with  each  young  countenance 
beautified  with  loving  affections.  With  what  a  new  im 
pulse  did  her  heart  go  out  toward  them  !  All  the  mother 
in  her  was  stirred  to  its  profoundest  depths.  While  she 
thought  and  felt  thus  toward  her  own  children,  involun 
tarily  she  raised  her  head,  and  bending  over,  lay,  partly 
reclining,  with  her  eyes  fixed  upon  the  calm  face  of  the 
sweet,  young  stranger. 

"  Baby — dear  baby !"  She  could  not  keep  back  the 
low  utterance;  and,  as  she  spoke,  she  lifted  the  sleeper 
in  her  arms,  and,  hugging  it  to  her  bosom,  commenced 
rocking  her  body,  and  murmuring  a  tender  lullaby. 

"Don't  be   foolish,  Mary!"     Jacob   Harding  spoke 


24  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE   HOUSEHOLD. 

more  roughly  than  he  felt,  but  in  tones  less  reproving 
than  he  had  meant  to  use.  "  You'll  waken  the  child, 
and  then  we  shall  have  a  time  of  it." 

"  She  is  so  sweet/'  said  Mrs.  Harding,  as  she  kissed 
the  babe,  and  then  replaced  it  in  the  warm  nest  from 
which  it  had  just  been  withdrawn.  She  did  not  know 
that  her  husband  was  awake  :  he  had  been  lying  so  very 
still,  that  she  believed  him  sleeping.  But  busy  thought, 
excited  by  a  new  current  of  feeling,  had  driven  slumber 
also  from  his  eyelids. 

"  One  would  think  you'd  never  seen  a  baby  before  !" 

There  was  no  ill-nature  in  the  voice  of  Jacob  Harding, 
notwithstanding  he  tried  to  speak  unkindly.  The  fact 
was,  he  had  been  so  long  in  the  habit  of  speaking 
harshly  to  his  wife,  that,  to  address  her  with  any  thing 
like  tenderness,  seemed  an  unmanly  weakness.  And  so 
he  put  on  a  rough  exterior  to  hide  the  softness  within. 
He  could  not  entirely  hide  it,  however.  Mrs.  Harding 
perceived  all  the  change  he,  too,  was  experiencing,  and 
it  but  increased  her  wonder  and  delight.  She  did  not 
venture  a  reply,  lest  something  in  her  words  should 
quicken  the  perverse  temper  of  her  husband. 

Never  in  her  life  before  did  Mrs.  Harding  fall  asleep 
in  such  a  state  of  mind,  or  with  thoughts  so  full  of  all 
tenderness  and  loving-kindness;  and  never  before  came 
to  her  a  dream  so  strange  and  beautiful.  Last  in  her 
thoughts,  as  all  waking  perceptions  died,  were  the  sin 
gular  incidents  of  the  evening;  and,  as  fancy  began  to 
mingle  her  airy  forms  with  the  things  of  actual  life,  the 
strange  vision — real  or  ideal — that  fixed  the  eyes  of 
Mrs.  Harding,  as  she  gazed  through  the  open  door  into 
the  surrounding  darkness,  was  most  prominent.  Across 
this  warp,  fancy  threw  her  shuttle,  and  strange  figures 
were  soon  made  visible  in  the  dreamy  fabric  she  wove. 

Again  Mrs.  Harding  was  alone  in  the  family  sitting- 
room.  No  babe  was  in  her  lap ;  but,  in  the  open  door 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD.        25 

stood  a  beautiful  woman,  and  she  knew  her  to  be  the 
same  whose  white,  sad,  yearning  face  had  been  revealed 
to  her  a  moment  on  the  background  of  shadows.  Ten 
der  and  serious,  but  not  sad,  was  her  face  now,  as  she 
beckoned  with  her  hand.  Mrs.  Harding  arose  and  fol 
lowed  the  lovely  apparition.  As  she  stepped  beyond  the 
threshold,  she  became  aware  that  the  earth  lay  in  sun 
light,  and  that  the  scenery  around  was  new  and  more 
beautiful  than  any  thing  she  had  seen.  Here  were  soft, 
green  meadows,  dotted  with  snow-white  lambs;  there, 
leafy  avenues,  along  which  the  eye  ranged  to  an  almost 
interminable  distance,  and  yonder  towered  up,  even  to 
the  spotless  heavens,  mountains  as  blue  as  the  sky  itself. 
11  The  land  of  innocence  and  essential  love/7  said  the 
stranger,  as  they  gained  an  eminence  and  looked  down 
upon  the  scene  spread  out  in  beauty  before  them.  "  The 
angels  of  childhood  dwell  here.  Whenever  a  babe  ia 
born  upon  the  earth,  two  angels  from  this  world  are  ap 
pointed  to  its  guardianship,  and  they  remain  near  'the 
child  through  all  the  days  of  its  tender  infancy;  and 
near  the  mother,  also,  filling  her  heart  with  love  foi'  her 
helpless  offspring.  It  is  their  presence  that  so  often 
changes  the  selfish  and  cruel  woman  into  the  tenderest 
of  mothers.  They  flow  into  her  mind  through  love  for 
her  babe,  and  fill  it  so  full  of  what  is  gentle  and  good, 
that  evil  passion  has  no  room  for  activity.  But,  gra 
dually,  as  the  minds  of  infants  are  opened,  through  the 
senses,  to  a  knowledge  of  the  world  into  which  they 
have  been  born,  and  as  the  will,  gaining  strength,  is 
moved  by  inherent  evil,  the  angels  gradually  recede  from 
both  the  child  and  the  mother;  not  because  they  wish  to 
abandon  their  charge,  but  because  their  gentle  influence 
is  no  longer  perceived.  With  some  they  remain  longer 
than  with  others;  for  some  children  are  born  with  fewer 
perverse  iuclinings,  and  some  mothers  love  their  babes 
with  a  divine  rather  than  an  earthly  love." 


26       THE  ANGEL  OP  THE  HOUSEHOLD. 


As  the  fair  stranger  ceased  speaking,  Mrs.  Harding 
perceived  that  they  were  standing  in  one  of  the  porticos 
of  a  building,  the  architecture  of  which,  in  its  grandeur, 
exceeded  any  thing  ever  reached  by  the  boldest  imagina 
tion.  The  walls  were  of  translucent  gems,  and  every 
where  the  ornaments,  that  seemed  living  forms,  gleamed 
with  gold  and  sparkled  with  precious  stones  of  wonderful 
brilliancy.  Into  this  magnificent  palace  they  entered, 
and  the  stranger  led  the  way  to  a  large  east  room,  where 
a  small  company  of  beautiful  virgins  stood  near  a  win 
dow,  from  which  they  were  gazing  earnestly. 

"  Let  us  approach  them,"  said  the  stranger ;  and  they 
moved  over  to  where  the  virgins  were  assembled  by  the 
window. 

"Pride  and  human  fear  have  hardened  her  heart." 
Thus  spoke  one  of  the  virgins.  "  And  she  is  about  to 
desert  the  babe.  See  !" 

All  bent  near  and  gazed  from  the  window.  To  the 
eyes  of  Mrs.  Harding  every  thing  looked  dark  and  sad. 
It  was  some  time  before  she  was  able  to  distinguish  ob 
jects;  but,  when  her  vision  was  clear,  she  recognised  all 
the  prominent  features  of  the  scene.  Dimly  revealed 
from  out  of  the  murky  shadows,  was  the  neighbourhood 
where  she  dwelt,  and  she  seemed  to  be  looking  down 
upon  it,  as  from  an  eminence.  It  was  night,  for  all  was 
in  half  obscurity,  and  the  stars  were  shining  from  the 
sky.  Here  and  there  stood  a  house — she  knew  them  all 
— and  there  was  her  humble  abode,  the  only  one  from 
the  window  of  which  light  streamed  forth  upon  the 
gloomy  darkness.  As  she  continued  to  look,  an  object 
moving  along  one  of  the  roads  became  visible.  Gazing 
more  intently,  she  saw  a  woman,  and  in  her  hand  she 
carried  a  basket.  A  thrill  passed  along  every  nerve,  as 
she  recognised  the  face  that  had  looked  so  wildly  upon 
her  from  the  fading  circle  of  light,  and  she  turned 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD.        27 


quickly  toward  the  stranger  who  had  led  her  thither— 
but  she  was  now  alone  with  the  virgins. 

"  Not  there,"  said  one  of  the  company. 

The  woman  had  paused  before  a  house,  the  inmates 
of  which  Mrs.  Harding  knew  to  be  best  esteemed  in  all 
the  neighbourhood  for  goodness  of  heart  and  kindness  of 
action.  In  this  home  there  was  ease  and  comfort ;  and 
the  babe,  if  left  there,  would  find  love  and  tenderness. 

"  Why  not  there  ?"  she  asked  aloud. 

"  Even  a  babe  has  its  mission  of  good  to  the  world," 
answered  one.  "  A  household  angel  will  this  babe  be, 
wherever  it  is  received;  for  to  the  best  of  Heaven's 
angels  has  been  committed  its  guardianship.  If  the 
mother,  hearkening  to  evil  counsel,  casts  it  from  her, 
the  blessing  of  its  presence  must  be  for  those  who  need 
the  blessing.  No,  not  there." 

And  the  woman,  who  had  paused  before  the  dwelling 
of  peace,  took  up  the  bundle,  and  passed  on  slowly, 
wearily,  and  in  tears. 

"  Not  there,"  said  one  of  the  virgins,  as  she  stopped 
before  another  dwelling. 

The  woman  seemed  to  hear  the  words,  for  she  raised 
the  basket  again,  and  kept  on  her  way.  As  she  did  so, 
her  eyes  received  the  light,  streaming  forth  from  the 
Hardings'  window,  and  she  turned  her  step  thitherward. 

"The  angels  of  childhood  are  about  to  leave  that 
dwelling,"  said  one  of  the  virgins ;  "  for  innocence  has 
almost  died  in  the  hearts  of  the  children.  A  dark 
shadow  is  resting  over  them,  for  the  powers  of  evil  have 
prevailed  over  the  good.  Let  the  babe  go  there." 

"  There  ?  Not  there !"  answered  one  of  the  virgins. 
"  The  innocent,  helpless  lamb  must  not  be  left  in  a  den 
of  wild  beasts." 

"  It  will  not  go  alone,"  was  replied.  "  Angels  have 
gathered  their  protecting  arms  around  it;  and  its  own 
sphere  of  innocence  will  be  a  wall  of  defence." 


28        THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD. 


A  low  cry  reached  the  ears  of  3Irs.  Harding — the  cry 

of  a  babe.     Instantly  the  vision  faded,  and  she  became 

aware  that  a  small,  soft  hand  was  nestling  in  her  bosom. 

There  was  a  love,  more  than  human,  in  her  heart,  as  she 

.Ted  the  half-waking  infant  in  her  arms,   and  felt 

she  had  been,  and  still  was,  in  the  company  of 

Is. 

How  vivid  remained  the  impression  of  her  dream — 
not  to  her  a  mere  phantasm,  but  a  real  vision ! 

"For  this  great  blessing,  Father,  I  am  thankful," 
said  she,  as  she  lifted  upward  her  heart  to  heaven. 

Strange  fact !  Not,  perhaps,  since  the  days  of  inno 
cent  childhood  until  now,  had  she  felt  that  God  was  near 
to  her,  and  near  as  the  Giver  of  good ;  and  that  she 
should  address  God  in  a  thankful  spirit !  She  wondered, 
even  while  she  gave  involuntary  thanks. 

When  Mrs.  Harding  slept  again,  it  was  to  dream  of 
the  babe,  and  to  have  a  consciousness  of  deep  peace, 
such  as  she  had  never  experienced  in  her  waking  mo 
ments.  New  purposes  and  better  states  of  niiud  had 
been  formed  during  both  the  waking  and  sleeping  hours 
that  passed  since  the  little  stranger  first  greeted  her  with 
its  winning  smiles.  The  morning  found  her  calm, 
thoughtful,  yet  sad.  What  a  trial  was  before  her  1 
Ah !  how  clearly  she  saw  her  difficult  position  !  How 
sunk  her  heart,  as  one  hard,  harsh  fact  after  another,  of 
that  position,  looked  her  sternly  in  the  face !  She  had 
as  much  to  fear  from  within  as  from  without — from  her 
ungovernable  passions  as  from  the  tempers  of  her  hus 
band  and  children. 

Dimly  the  morning  broke,  the  cold  light  creeping 
slowly  into  the  chamber  where  she  lay.  Her  husband 
and  Lotty  still  slept ;  but  the  babe  was  awake,  and  its 
large  blue  eyes  were  looking  up  into  hers.  How  sweetly 
it  smiled  !  How  trustful  and  loving  the  whole  expression 
./fits  young  face! 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD.        29 


"  Blessed  baby  !"  she  said  tenderly. 
And  it  responded  to  her  greeting  with  a  curving  lip, 
and  the  low,  cooing  sound  of  a  dove,  as  she  talked  to  it, 
forgetful  of  every  thing  in  the  pleasure  of  the  moment. 
Harding  awoke  suddenly,  and  starting  up  in  bed,  mut 
tered  some  incoherent  words,  and  threw  his  eyes  hastily 
around  the  room.  His  voice  chilled  the  heart  of  his 
wife,  for  she  dreaded  his  waking  mood.  Scarcely  think 
ing  of  what  she  did,  Mrs.  Harding  drew  the  bed-clothes 
over  the  child,  and  so  placed  her  body  as  to  shield  it 
from  his  observation. 

"  I've  been  dreaming,  I  believe/'  said  Harding,  as  he 
laid  himself  back  on  the  pillow. 

"  Dreaming  of  what  ?" 

Mrs.  Harding  spoke  very  gently.  In  half  wonder, 
her  husband  turned  his  head  to  look  into  her  face — the 
tone  was  so  unusual. 

"  I  never  saw  any  thing  so  real." 

"  Was  it  a  pleasant  dream  ?" 

Harding  looked  over  at  his  wife  again.  It  was  the 
old  voice  that,  in  times  gone  by,  had  sounded  to  him  so 
musically. 

"Yes,  Mary,"  he  answered,  mildly,  "it  was  a  plea 
sant,  though  a  singular  dream.  I  thought  some  one  left 
a  baby  at  our  door" 

He  paused  abruptly,  looked  serious  for  a  moment  or 
two,  and  then  said — 

"  But  that  was  no  dream,  Mary." 

He  now  raised  himself  up,  and,  as  he  did  so,  Mrs. 
Harding  drew  down  the  bed-clothes,  and  showed  him  the 
smiling  infant. 

"  It  was  no  dream,  Jacob,"  she  said,  kindly. 

For  some  time,  Harding  gazed  upon  the  little  face, 

and  the  longer  he  gazed,  the  softer  grew  his  heart.     He 

said  no  more  of  the  dream ;  yet,  as  well  to  him  as  to  his 

wife,  had  come  a  vision — though  not  in  all  things  alike. 

3* 


30        THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLP. 

He  had  seen  the   little   abandoned  one   in  sleep,   and 
under  circumstances  that  impressed  his  mind  powerfully. 

It  was  now  broad  daylight,  and  Lotty,  as  was  usual 
with  her,  awoke  in  a  bad  humour.  She  commenced 
crying  even  before  her  eyes  were  fairly  open. 

"  What  do  you  want,  Lotty  T'  asked  Mrs.  Harding. 

But  Lotty  cried  on;  not  seeming  to  have  heard  her 
mother's  voice. 

"Lotty!  Lotty!" 

The  crying  did  not  cease  for  an  instant. 

tl  See  what  I've  got  here,  Lotty  I" 

t(  You  ain't  got  any  thing  !" 

By  such  words  the  child  had  been  so  often  deceived, 
that  no  confidence  remained  even  in  her  mother.  And 
so  she  kept  crying  on. 

"  Will  you  hush,  now  ?" 

The  father's  patience  was  gone,  and  he  spoke  in  a 
quick,  angry  voice.  How  the  little  stranger  babe 
started !  What  a  frightened  look  was  in  its  face ! 
Harding  saw  the  effect  of  his  harsh  tones ;  and,  for  the 
sake  of  the  babe,  regretted  the  sudden  passion  to  which 
he  had  given  way. 

"But  I  have  got  something  here,  Lotty,"  said  Mrs. 
Harding.  u  It  is  the  dearest  little  baby  you  ever  saw 
in  your  life." 

Instantly  the  voice  was  silent,  and,  springing  from  the 
bed  in  which  she  lay,  Lotty  stood  beside  her  mother. 
Harding  watched  her  face,  and  saw  how  suddenly  it 
changed. 

"  It  is  wonderful !"  he  said  to  himself,  as  he  arose 
and  commenced  dressing — "wonderful.  It  seems  even 
now  as  if  I  must  be  dreaming.  l  A  heaven-sent  child.' 
These  were  the  very  words  that  sounded  in  my  ears  as  I 
awoke;  and  I  verily  believe  the  babe  is  from  heaven." 

"  Baby  !  baby  !  dear,  sweet  baby  !  0  mother  !  where 
did  it  come  from  ?" 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD.        31 

There  was  such  a  gush  of  delight  in  the  voice  of 
Lotty,  who  was  usually  cross  in  the  morning,  as  she 
stood  on  a  chair,  and  bent  over  the  infant,  that  Mr. 
Harding' s  wonder  increased.  A  spell  about  the  babe 
subdued  all  who  came  near.  To  him  it  was  a  new  life- 
phenomenon,  the  mystery  of  which  filled  him  with  sur 
prise,  not  unmingled  with  a  heart-pervading  sense  of 
pleasure. 

Mrs.  Harding  now  arose,  leaving  Lotty  and  the  infant 
equally  delighted  with  each  other,  and  commenced  hur 
riedly  dressing  herself.  It  was  her  business  to  prepare 
the  morning  meal;  for  the  earnings  of  her  husband  were 
not  sufficient  to  allow  her  help  in  the  family.  With 
many  earnest  injunctions  to  Lotty  not  to  hurt  the  babe, 
she  left  the  chamber  for  the  kitchen,  in  order  to  make 
up  the  fire  and  get  breakfast.  Somehow  or  other,  the 
fire  kindled  with  unwonted  quickness;  and  every  touch 
and  movement  of  her  hand  seemed  to  accomplish  her 
purpose  more  readily  than  usual.  By  the  time  the  milk 
man  was  at  the  door,  she  had  the  table  set,  and  the 
kettle  was  almost  ready  to  boil.  The  babe's  breakfast 
was  her  next  thought.  It  was  scarcely  the  work  of  a 
moment  to  dilute  some  new  milk  with  warm  water,  to 
add  a  little  sugar,  and  a  few  crumbs  of  bread,  and  to 
bear  it  into  the  chamber  where  she  had  left  the  little 
stranger. 

As  she  came  in  noiselessly,  she  saw  her  husband 
stooping  over  the  infant,  whose  two  white,  chubby 
hands  were  fluttering  about  his  rough  face,  and  heard 
the  cooing,  dove-like  voice  that  had  sounded  once  before 
to  her  so  sweetly. 

As  soon  as  Harding  perceived  that  his  wife  was  pre 
sent,  he  left  the  bedside,  half  ashamed  of  his  weakness 
in  thus  toying  with  a  mere  babe. 

"  The  child  must  be  hungry,"  he  said,  with  as  much 
indifference  as  he  could  affect. 


32        THE  ANGEL  OP  THE  HOUSEHOLD. 


"I've  brought  her  something  to  eat/'  answered  Mrs, 
Harding.  "  And  won't  you,  Jacob,  while  I  feed  her, 
call  the  children,  and  bring  me  in  an  armful  or  two  of 
wood  ?  Breakfast  will  be  all  ready  in  a  little  while." 

There  was  no  resisting  the  manner  of  Mrs.  Harding. 
If  she  had  always  spoken  to  her  husband  as  now,  he 
would  always  have  been  to  her  a  kind  husband.  Her 
power  over  him  for  good  might  have  been  complete,  had 
she  been  wise,  gentle,  and  forbearing.  But  she  had 
exercised  no  self-control,  and  almost  from  the  beginning 
of  their  married  life,  had  excited  the  evil  in  him,  rather 
than  the  good.  How  much  she  had  lost,  and  how  much 
she  had  suffered  in  consequence,  can  hardly  be  imagined. 
Her  life,  for  the  last  six  or  seven  years,  might  almost  be 
called  a  living  martyrdom. 

Harding  did  not  answer,  but  went  out  from  the  cham 
ber  promptly  to  do  as  his  wife  had  requested.  Ordi 
narily,  in  calling  the  children,  he  spoke,  to  use  the 
strong  words  of  his  wife,  "as  if  he  would  take  their 
heads  off."  He  corrected  this  bad  habit  in  the  present 
instance;  for,  instead  of  ordering  them  roughly  and 
angrily  to  get  right  up,  or  he  would  be  after  them  "  with 
a  stick/'  he  ascended  to  the  room  where  they  lay,  and 
spoke  kindly,  yet  firmly,  to  each  one,  subduing  their 
waking  impatience,  by  the  quiet  pressure  of  his  own 
voice  and  manner. 

"  Andrew/'  he  said  in  a  tone  that,  exciting  no  opposi 
tion  in  the  boy's  mind,  left  the  consciousness  that  he 
must  obey — "  dress  yourself  before  you  come  down,  and 
do  it  quickly." 

(l  Yes,  sir,"  was  answered  cheerfully,  and  Andrew 
sprang  from  his  bed. 

"  Philip  !  Lucy  !"  The  two  younger  children  rose 
up.  "  G-o  down  to  your  mother.  She  wants  to  dress 
you." 

The  voice  and  manner  of  their  father  were  so  unusual, 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD.        33 


that  the  little  ones  felt  both  surprise  and  pleasure. 
They  obeyed  instantly,  and  Mr.  Harding  had  the  strange 
satisfaction  of  witnessing  an  act  of  ready  and  cheerful 
obedience  in  his  children. 

A  great  surprise  awaited  Lucy  and  Philip,  and  they 
were  just  in  the  state  of  mind  for  its  full  enjoyment. 

A  stranger,  who  had  looked  in  upon  Harding's  family 
at  the  early  ineal  on  the  previous  day,  and  who  looked 
in  again  upon  them  as  they  assembled  around  the  break 
fast-table  on  this  morning,  could  hardly  have  believed 
that  his  eyes  rested  on  the  same  individuals.  In  her 
usual  place  was  Mrs.  Harding,  the  stranger  babe  on  her 
arm,  and  looking  so  beautiful  and  happy,  that  all  eyes 
and  hearts  were  drawn  toward  it.  Little  Lotty,  from  the 
moment  its  bright  eyes  looked  into  hers,  had  not  once 
left  its  side,  and  now,  as  she  sat  close  to  her  mother,  she 
could  not  eat  for  pleasure. 

"Has  it  any  name,  mother?"  asked  Andrew,  from 
whom  had  not  proceeded  a  single  ill-natured  word  or  act, 
since  he  came  down  and  saw  the  baby. 

Mrs.  Harding  did  not  reply,  but  looked  at  her  hus 
band.  A  name  had  been  floating  in  her  thoughts,  but 
she  hesitated  about  giving  it  utterance. 

"  Dora,"  said  Mr.  Harding.     "  Let  us  call  her  Dora." 

Now,  that  was  not  the  name  about  which  Mrs.  Harding 
had  been  thinking ;  nor  was  it  a  name  that  pleased  her 
ear.  It  was  on  her  tongue  to  say,  "  Oh,  no ;"  but  she 
kept  silent.  Her  eyes  were  bent  down  upon  the  little 
one's  face,  and  there  she  read  her  duty.  For  its  sake, 
she  refrained  from  objecting,  because  she  feared  that  any 
want  of  accord  with  her  husband  would  produce  a  state 
of  opposition ;  and  so  she  said  nothing. 

"  Shall  it  be  Dora  ?"  Harding  spoke  in  a  pleasant 
voice. 

"  Yes,  if  you  like  the  name."  And  Mrs.  Harding 
looked  up  and  smiled  as  she  answered. 


34        THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD. 


"  Have  you  thought  of  one,  Mary  ?" 

"  A  name  has  been  in  my  mind  ever  since  I  awoke 
this  morning.  But  if  Dora  sounds  pleasant  to  your 
ears,  let  her  be  called  Dora." 

"What  name  did  you  think  of?  Perhaps  I  will  like 
it  best,"  said  Harding. 

"  Grace."  Mrs.  Harding  spoke  the  word  softly  and 
tenderly. 

"  The  very  name  !"  said  her  husband.  "  It  is  much 
better  than  Dora.  Let  her  be  called  Grace." 

"  Grace  !  Grace  !"  All  the  children  echoed  the  name ; 
and  the  baby,  as  if  conscious  of  a  new  importance,  tossed 
its  little  hands,  and  smiled. 

So  touched  was  Mrs.  Harding  by  this  unexpected  ac 
quiescence  of  her  husband,  that  tears  came  into  her  eyes. 
For  the  first  time  in  months,  it  might  be  years,  Harding 
had  deferred  to  her  wishes — but  not  in  consequence  of 
resolute  persistence  on  her  part.  Had  she  contended  for 
the  name  that  pleased  her  best,  he  would  never  have 
seen  in  it  a  beauty  and  fitness  above  the  one  he  pre 
ferred  himself^  and  she  would,  in  the  end,  have  been 
compelled  to  yield,  or  have  the  babe  thrust  out  from  the 
home  into  which  its  presence  had  already  brought  so 
many  rays  of  sunshine. 

And  so  the  babe  was  named  Grace. 

"  What  will  you  do,  Mary  ?"  said  Harding  to  his 
wife,  as,  after  sitting  longer  than  usual  at  the  table,  he 
arose  to  leave  the  house.  As  he  spoke,  he  looked  toward 
the  child  that  still  lay  in  her  arms.  Mrs.  Harding 
understood,  and  answered  quickly — 

"  Oh,  I  shall  get  on  very  well.  Breakfast  wasn't  late 
a  minute  this  morning,  and  I'm  sure  every  thing  has 
gone  on  pleasantly.  No  hurry  nor  confusion.  The 
children  never  behaved  better  in  their  lives." 

And  the  mother  glanced  at  them  approvingly. 


THE  ANGEL  OP  THE  HOUSEHOLD.        35 

"  But  you  can't  attend  to  an  infant,  and  do  all  your 
work  into  the  bargain  ?" 

"You  see  if  every  thing  isn't  in  order,  and  dinner 
smoking  on  the  table  when  you  come  home/'  answered 
Mrs.  Harding,  cheerfully,  and  with  smiles. 

Harding  lingered.  There  was  a  fascination  about 
little  Grace,  from  the  circle  of  which  it  seemed  as  if  he 
could  not  break. 

"  What  are  we  to  do  with  this  child,  Mary  ?"  said  he, 
his  manner  becoming  serious.  "  We  have  more  children 
now  than  we  can  well  take  care  of." 

"Has  it  brought  us  trouble  or  pleasure,  so  far?" 
asked  Mrs.  Harding,  looking  up  earnestly  into  her  hus 
band's  face.  He  did  not  answer. 

"  Would  you  like  to  see  it  taken  to  the  poor-house  ?" 

"  No,  no.  It  shall  not  go  there !"  Harding  spoke 
quickly  and  strongly. 

"  It  is  a  heaven-sent  child,  Jacob,"  said  Mrs.  Harding, 
in  a  low  but  impressive  voice.  "  I  know  it  from  the 
dream  that  came  to  me  last  night.  Let  us  accept  the 
boon  thankfully.  He  who  sent  it  to  us  will  see  that  it 
shall  prove  not  a  burden,  but  a  blessing." 

Harding  answered  not  a  word,  but  drew  nearer  to  his 
wife,  and,  bending  down,  laid  his  finger  upon  the  babe's 
soft  cheek.  He  would  have  stooped  lower  and  kissed 
the  cheek,  but  felt  ashamed  to  betray  what  seemed  to 
him  a  weakness. 

When  that  hard,  harsh,  passionate  man  went  forth 
into  the  world  of  strife  and  labour,  he  carried  in  his 
thoughts  the  beautiful  image  of  a  babe.  Men  with 
whom  he  had  been  used  to  come  in  rough  contact,  saw 
a  change,  but  divined  not  the  cause.  He  was  less 
coarse  in  speech,  and  rude  in  action — less  contentious — 
less  overbearing.  The  consequence  was,  that  men  who 
had  always  treated  him  roughly,  because  he  was  himself 
rough,  instantly  changed  their  manner,  so  that  fewer 


36        THE  ANGEL  OP  THE  HOUSEHOLD. 

things  than  usual  occurred  to  chafe  his  spirit.  Not 
during  all  that  morning  was  the  image  of  the  babe  once 
wholly  obliterated,  though  many  times  obscured. 

"  What  does  it  all  mean  ?"  said  Harding  to  himself, 
as  he  reflected  on  the  change.  "  Am  I  the  same  man 
that  I  was  yesterday  ?  What  is  there  in  a  little  helpless 
babe  to  cast  a  spell  like  this  ?" 

But  he  questioned  in  vain.  He  could  not  understand 
the  mystery.  With  lighter  steps  and  a  lighter  heart 
than  usual,  he  took  his  way  home  at  dinner-time,  look 
ing  for  sunshine  there.  And  he  did  not  look  in  vain, 
for  it  lay  broader  and  brighter  over  his  threshold  than 
it  had  lain  for  many  years. 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD.        37 


CHAPTER  III. 

THERE  was  quite  a  stir  in  the  neighbourhood  when 
the  news  got  abroad  that  an  infant  had  been  found  at 
the  door  of  the  Hardings.  The  gossips  had  a  "  world  to 
say"  on  the  subject;  and  all  agreed,  that  a  more  unfor 
tunate  selection  of  a  home  for  the  little  one  could  not 
have  been  made. 

"  It  don't  matter  much  as  far  as  that  goes,"  said  Mrs. 
Margaret  Willits,  the  storekeeper's  wife,  as  she  chattered 
over  the  tea-table  with  Mrs.  Jarvis  and  Miss  Gimp; 
"  for  the  truth  is — all  among  ourselves,  remember — 
Harding  can't  support  his  own  children,  let  alone  other 
people's.  Somebody  will  have  to  take  the  child  off  their 
hands,  or  they'll  send  it  to  the  poor-house." 

"But  he  does  support  his  own  children,"  replied 
Miss  Gimp. 

This  was  ingeniously  remarked,  in  order  to  draw  Mrs. 
Willits  out. 

"  I'm  not  so  sure  of  that,"  said  the  storekeeper's  wife, 
mysteriously. 

"  Who  does  support  them  ?" 

Mrs.  Jarvis  put  the  question  direct. 

"  I  guess  we  do  our  part — this  among  ourselves." 

"  Oh,  I  understand,"  said  Miss  Gimp,  a  light  break 
ing  over  her  countenance.  "He  doesn't  pay  up  at 
your  store  ?" 

"You've  hit  it  right— but  it's  all  among  ourselves, 
remember." 

"  Oh,  of  course,**  returned  Miss  Gimp.     And " 

"  Of  course,"  said  Mrs.  Jarvis.  "We  wouldn't  speak 
of  it  on  any  consideration." 


38        THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD. 


a  Don't,  if  you  please ;  for  they're  bad  kind  of  people, 
and  I  wouldn't  get  their  ill-will  on  any  account.  Mrs. 
Harding  has  an  awful  tongue  in  her  head ;  and  what  is 
worse,  I  verily  believe  she  would  seek  to  do  nie  some 
harm,  if  she  knew  I'd  said  a  word  against  her." 

"  Don't  be  afraid,"  said  both  of  the  ladies  at  once. 

"  And  so  Harding  owes  your  husband  ?"  Miss  Gimp 
spoke  insinuatingly. 

"  Oh,  yes.  He's  been  getting  things  off  and  on  now, 
for  a  year.  Every  little  while  he  comes  and  pays  some 
thing  on  account;  but  manages  to  let  his  bill  keep  get 
ting  larger  and  larger.  Mr.  Willits  says  it  must  stop 
soon.  He  was  going  to  refuse  them  trust  last  week; 
but  thought  he  would  wait  a  while  longer.  He  knows 
that  the  moment  he  stops  them  off,  Harding  will  be 
terribly  angry,  and  that  he  will  not  only  lose  the  custom 
of  the  family,  but  all  the  money  that  is  owed  to  him 
into  the  bargain." 

"  Rather  a  hard  case,"  remarked  Miss  Gimp. 

"Isn't  it?  And  so,  as  I  was  saying,  it  doesn't  mat 
ter  much  for  the  child,  that  it  was  left  at  their  door. 
They'll  never  dream  of  keeping  it." 

"  When  was  the  infant  abandoned  ?"  asked  Mrs. 
Jarvis. 

"  Three  nights  ago,"  replied  the  storekeeper's  wife. 

"  Indeed !  I  never  heard  a  syllable  of  it  until  to 
day.  And  the  child  is  still  with  them  ?" 

"  For  all  I  know  to  the  contrary,"  said  Mrs.  "Willits. 

a  They've  been  very  quiet  about  the  matter,  that's 
certain,"  remarked  Miss  Gimp,  who  was  dressmaker 
and  assistant  gossip  for  the  neighbourhood.  "  Three 
nights  ago — and  not  a  breath  of  it  to  reach  my  ears 
until  last  evening  !  It  looks  mysterious.  Why  should 
they  be  so  very  still  about  it? — they,  of  all  people  in 
the  world !  I  shouldn't  wonder,  now  that  I  think  of 
it,  if  they  knew  more  about  the  matter  than  they  care  to 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD.        39 

tell.  There's  something  wrong,  depend  on't.  I'm  as 
sure  of  it  as  that  I  am  sitting  here." 

"  Wrong  in  what  way  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Jarvis,  manifest 
ing  a  new  interest  in  the  subject. 

Miss  Gimp  affected  a  mysterious  manner,  as  if  she 
knew  more  of  what  was  going  on  in  the  neighbourhood 
than  she  felt  at  liberty  to  tell. 

"  Have  you  any  suspicion  as  to  where  the  child  came 
from  ?"  inquired  Mrs.  Willits. 

"  I  have  my  own  thoughts,"  said  Miss  Gimp,  with  a 
gravity  that  so  well  became  her.  "But  thoughts  cannot 
always  be  spoken." 

"  We  are  all  friends,  you  know,  Miss  Gimp."  Mrs. 
Jarvis  put  on  her  most  insinuating  manner.  "Old 
friends,  who  can  trust  one  another." 

"I'd  trust  you  with  any  thing  I  knew  certain,"  re 
plied  Miss  Gimp.  "But  it's  all  guess-work  here.  Wait 
a  few  days.  I'm  bound  to  sift  this  matter  to  the  bottom. 
At  present,  I'll  just  give  it  as  my  opinion,  that  the 
Hardings  know  a  great  deal  more  about  the  child  than 
they  care  to  tell." 

"  You  may  be  right  there,  Miss  Gimp,"  said  Mrs. 
Willits — "else,  why  have  they  kept  so  still  about  it?" 

"  Exactly  !     Why  have  they  kept  so  still  about  it  ?" 

"Did  you  hear,"  inquired  Mrs.  Jarvis,  "whether 
there  was  a  letter  in  the  basket  with  the  child  ?" 

Mrs.  Willits  shook  her  head. 

"  Of  course,  there  must  have  been,"  said  Miss  Gimp. 
"There  always  is,  in  affairs  of  this  kind.  Take  my 
word  for  it,  the  parentage  of  that  child  is  no  secret  to 
the  Hardings.  And" — her  imagination  was  taking  a 
freer  range — "I  shouldn't  at  all  wonder  if  the  basket 
contained  something  more  than  a  baby." 

"What?" 

The  two  ladies  bent  closer  toward  Miss  Gimp. 

"  Money  1" 


40        THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD. 

"Money?" 

"  Yes :  a  handsome  sum  of  money ;  and  a  letter  be 
sides,  promising  a  regular  payment  of  more  every  month 
or  quarter,  as  long  as  they  keep  the  child.  Depend 
upon  it,  this  is  the  case ;  I'm  as  sure  of  it  as  if  I  had 
seen  into  the  basket  myself." 

"  You've  guessed  it  as  certain  as  fate/'  said  Mrs. 
Willits,  with  animation.  "No  one  would  have  trusted 
a  little  helpless  infant  in  their  hands,  without  some 
strong  hold,  like  this,  upon  their  selfishness.  Well,  all 
I  can  say  is,  that,  in  the  first  place,  they  didn't  deserve 
any  such  good  fortune ;  and  in  the  second  place,  who 
ever  selected  them  as  guardians  of  the  child,  have  made 
a  cruel  experiment." 

In  this  the  other  ladies  fully  agreed,  Miss  Gimp  re 
marking,  "It  is  an  ill  wind  that  blows  nobody  good. 
Your  husband,  Mrs.  Willits,  may  now  stand  some  chance 
of  getting  his  money." 

"  Sure  enough  !  I  didn't  think  of  that.  It  takes  you, 
Miss  Gimp,  to  see  all  the  bearings  of  a  subject." 

Miss  Gimp  was  flattered  by  this  compliment,  and 
drew  her  head  up  in  a  way  peculiar  to  herself  when 
pleased. 

"  Has  any  one  seen  the  child  ?"  inquired  Mrs.  Jarvis. 
"  I  have  not,"  answered  Mrs.  Willits ;  "  nor  have  I 
met  with  any  one  who  has  called  on  Mrs.  Harding  since 
it  was  left  at  her  house.  There's  neither  pleasure  nor 
comfort  in  visiting  her;  and  so  people  stay  away.  I 
haven't  been  in  her  house  for  three  months.  The  fact 
is,  the  last  time  I  called  on  her,  she  was  in  an  awful 
humour  about  something  or  other,  and  as  snappish  as  a 
turtle.  I'm  sure  she  boxed  the  ears  of  every  child  she 
has,  three  times  over,  while  I  was  there,  and,  if  the 
truth  must  be  told,  they  richly  deserved  all  they  got; 
for  a  more  ill-mannered,  quarrelsome  brood  I  never  saw. 
Andrew,  their  oldest  boy,  is  a  perfect  little  desperado. 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD.        4l 

The  way  he  knocked  the  other  children  about  was  dread 
ful.  I  was  in  fear  every  moment  of  seeing  some  of  their 
limbs  broken  or  eyes  put  out." 

"  Just  as  it  was  when  I  called  there  last,"  said  Miss 
Gimp.  "  I  went  to  fit  a  dress  for  Mrs.  Harding.  The 
house  seemed  like  a  perfect  bedlam.  The  children  quar 
relled  all  the  while,  and  their  mother  stormed  at  them 
incessantly.  I  was  too  glad  to  get  away." 

"  Do  you  expect  to  go  there  again  very  soon  ?"  asked 
Mrs.  Jarvis. 

"  I  ought  to  have  gone  there  a  week  ago,  to  take 
home  the  cape  of  her  last  new  dress.  She  wants  it,  I 
know.  There  isn't  more  than  half  an  hour's  work  on  it, 
and  I'll  do  that  this  very  evening." 

"  Then  you'll  see  her  in  the  morning,"  said  the  store 
keeper's  wife. 

"  Yes." 

"Just  drop  in  on  your  way  back,  Miss  Gimp;  that's 
a  good  soul.  It's  such  a  strange  affair,  I  really  feel 
curious  about  it.  Take  a  good  look  at  the  baby,  and  see 
if  you  can  trace  a  likeness  to  anybody.  And  then,  be 
sure  to  find  out  if  any  money  came  with  it,  or  is  pro 
mised.  I  want  to  know  about  that,  of  all  things." 

"Never  fear  for  me,"  said  Miss  Gimp,  looking  un 
usually  bright.  "  I'll  gather  up  every  crumb  of  in 
formation." 

"  And  you'll  call  in  as  you  go  by  ?" 

"  Oh,  certainly." 

"  Do,  if  you  please,"  said  Mrs.  Jarvis ;  "  for,  as  I  have 
an  errand  out  in  the  morniug,  I'll  manage  to  be  here — 
at  what  time  ?" 

"  Say  ten  o'clock,"  replied  Miss  Gimp. 

Little  else  was  talked  of  by  the  ladies  during  the  hour 
they  remained  together  after  tea. 

On  the  next  morning,  at  ten  o'clock,  Mrs.  Willits  and 
Mrs.  Jarvis  sat  together,  awaiting  the  arrival  of  Miss 


42        THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD. 


Gimp,  who  had  looked  in  upon  the  storekeeper's  wife,  as 
she  passed  on  her  way  to  the  Hardings,  to  say  that  she 
would  call  on  her  return  and  make  a  report.  Sooner 
than  they  expected  the  dressmaker,  she  came  in.  Her 
face  did  not  look  very  animated. 

"  Good  morning,  Miss  Gimp  ! — good  morning !"  said 
the  ladies. 

"  Good  morning. " 

Miss  Gimp  tried  to  look  important  and  well  satisfied 
with  herself,  but  the  effort  was  wholly  unsuccessful. 

"  Well,  Miss  Gimp,  did  you  see  the  baby  ?" 

« I  did." 

There  was  an  ominous  gravity  in  the  gossip's  tones. 

"  Is  it  a  nice-looking  baby  ?"  inquired  Mrs.  Willits. 

"  A  very  nice-looking  baby,  indeed.  In  fact,  it's  the 
dearest,  sweetest  little  thing  I  ever  saw." 

"  Why,  Miss  Gimp  !     You  don't  say  so  ?" 

li  It's  the  truth,  every  word  I  tell  you." 

"  Well,  really  !     It's  a  nice  baby,  then  ?" 

"  You  may  believe  it.  And  then,  it's  so  good  !  Mrs. 
Harding  says  it  hasn't  cried  an  hour  since  it  came  into 
the  house." 

"  You  don't  tell  me  !" 

"  I  can  well  believe  her ;  for,  while  I  was  there,  it  did 
nothing  but  smile  and  coo,  and  try  its  best  to  talk  to 
every  one  who  came  near  the  cradle  where  it  lay." 

This  information  was  not  half  so  satisfactory  to  the 
two  ladies,  as  the  report  of  its  being  cross  and  disagree 
able  would  have  been. 

"  Well,  so  much  for  the  baby,"  said  Mrs.  Jarvis. 
"  And  now,  Miss  Gimp,  tell  us  all  you  learned  about  it. 
Where  do  you  think  it  came  from  ?" 

"  Haven't  the  least  idea  in  the  world/'  replied  Miss 
Gimp. 

"  Really !" 

"Keally!" 


THE  ANGEL  OP  THE  HOUSEHOLD.        43 

"  Could  you  trace  a  likeness  ?" 

Miss  Gimp  shook  hear  head. 

"  Doesn't  it  look  like  somebody  you  have  seen  ?" 

" No  one  that  I  can  remember;  and  yet  the  face  is 
strangely  familiar.  It  seems  as  if  I  had  met  it  only 
yesterday ;  but,  for  my  life,  I  cannot  tell,  where." 

"  What  does  Mrs.  Harding  say  ?" 

"  Nothing." 

"  Nothing  ?" 

"  Or  next  to  nothing.  She's  very  quiet  and  very  re 
served.  Something  has  come  over  her  and  the  whole 
family." 

"  Indeed  I"     Both  the  ladies  spoke  at  once. 

"  In  what  respect  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Willits. 

"  I  didn't  hear  a  cross  word  while  I  was  in  the  house, 
either  from  mother  or  children.  The  last  time  I  was 
there,  Lotty,  the  youngest,  did  nothing  but  fret,  and 
snarl,  and  cry.  But  this  morning  she  sat  on  the  floor, 
beside  the  cradle,  looking  fondly  on  the  baby,  or  playing 
with  it  in  the  gentlest  manner.  The  fact  is,  that  baby 
seems  to  have  brought  a  charm  into  the  house.  I  could 
hardly  believe  I  was  with  the  same  people." 

"  You  don't  tell  us  so?" 

"It's  the  truth,  just  what  I  say." 

"  Was  there  any  letter  or  money  in  the  basket  ?"  in 
quired  Mrs.  Willits,  whose  interest  in  that  aspect  of  the 
case  was  particularly  strong. 

"Not  that  I  could  find  out,"  answered  Miss  Gimp. 
"  I  felt  my  way,  and  hinted,  and  did  every  thing  except 
put  the  question  direct;  but  Mary  Harding  cither  could 
not  or  would  not  understand  me.  She  was  always  a 
little  close-mouthed,  you  knew." 

"  Why  didn't  you  ask  her  right  up  and  down  ?  I 
would  have  done  so,"  said  Mrs.  Willits. 

"It  was  on  my  tongue's  end  more  than  once;  but 
every  time  I  was  about  to  speak,  she  seemed  to  know 


44        THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD. 


what  was  in  my  mind,  and  made  some  remark  that  threw 
me  off." 

"  How  provoking !" 

"  It  was  provoking,"  said  Miss  Gimp,  looking  particu 
larly  annoyed. 

"  What  does  she  intend  doing  with  the  little  stranger  ?" 
asked  Mrs.  Jarvis. 

"  Keep  it,"  replied  Miss  Gimp. 

"  She's  got  a  house  full  of  her  own  now — more  than 
her  husband  is  able  to  support/'  said  Mrs.  Willits. 
"  I  don't  understand  the  woman." 

"  I  think  I  do,"  returned  Miss  Gimp,  assuming  a 
knowing  look.  She  was  good  at  surmising.  "  As  to 
there  being  any  disinterested  feeling  toward  the  babe, 
that  is  not  admitted  for  an  instant." 

"  Of  course  not." 

Miss  Gimp  resumed — "  You  may  rely  upon  it,  then, 
as  I  suggested  in  the  beginning,  that  she  knows  all 
about  where  the  child  came  from,  and  is  well  paid  for 
taking  care  of  it." 

"  But  how  do  you  account  for  the  singular  change  in 
her  temper,  and,  above  all,  for  the  change  in  the  temper 
of  her  children  ?" 

a  I've  thought  of  all  that,"  answered  the  dressmaker, 
"  and  own  that  I  am  puzzled.  It  has  occurred  to  me, 
that  her  young  savages  may  have  been  tamed,  as  they 
tame  wild  beasts,  by  hunger  and  stripes.  If  she  has  a 
motive  strong  enough  to  make  her  resolute,  Mrs.  Harding 
is  not  the  woman  to  hesitate  about  the  adoption  of  any 
means  for  the  accomplishment  of  her  purposes.  It  has, 
no  doubt,  been  made  her  interest  to  keep  this  child,  and 
to  keep  it  right.  If  this  is  really  so,  she  will  make  all 
bend  to  her  will  in  the  matter." 

And  so,  after  all,  the  dressmaker  had  failed  to  learn 
any  thing  about  the  babe,  that  was  satisfactory  either  to 
herself  or  her  friends,  Mrs.  Wiilits  and  Mrs.  Jarvis.  As 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD.        45 


might  be  supposed,  the  report  of  Miss  Gimp  excited  still 
more  the  curiosity  of  the  two  ladies,  who  had  urged  the 
visit  to  Mrs.  Harding.  They  were  really  troubled,  be 
cause  of  their  inability  to  penetrate  the  mystery  that  sur 
rounded  the  affair.  Over  one  bit  of  information,  re 
served  to  the  last  by  Miss  Gimp,  they  became  excited ; 
but  it  left  them  still  in  the  dark. 

"  Harry  Wilkins  saw  the  person  who  left  the  basket 
at  Harding's  door,"  said  the  dressmaker. 

«  What !" 

"  I  was  talking  with  Harry  Wilkins  last  evening,  and 
he  says,  that  on  the  night  the  child  was  left  at  Hard- 
ing's,  he  went  to  Beechwood.  On  the  way,  he  met  a 
woman  carrying  a  basket.  She  was  young,  and  had 
something  strange-looking  about  her.  It  struck  him 
that  she  was  in  trouble,  for  she  seemed  very  irresolute — 
walking  on  for  a  time  hurriedly ;  then  stopping  as  if  in 
doubt;  and  once  or  twice  turning  back  toward  Beech- 
wood.  His  curiosity  was  excited,  and  he  watched  her 
for  some  time.  On  his  return,  he  met  her  again,  but 
without  the  basket.  He  passed  very  close  to  her — 
close  enough  to  get  a  glimpse  of  her  face,  which  he 
says  looked  like  the  face  of  one  in  deep  distress/' 

"  And  she  came  from  Beechwood?"  said  Mrs.  Jarvis, 
breathing  deeply. 

"  She  came  from  that  direction,  Harry  says." 

"  The  child's  mother,  no  doubt.  What  a  wretch  she 
must  be !  From  Beechwood  ?  That's  something  to 
know.  I've  got  a  cousin  living  in  Beechwood,  and  I'll 
go  over  and  see  her  this  very  blessed  week.  I  shouldn't 
wonder  if  she  could  trace  the  whole  affair." 

Saying  this,  Mrs.  Jarvis  arose,  and  made  a  movement 
to  go,  at  which  Miss  Gimp  remarked  that,  she  must  run 
home  also,  as  she  had  promised  a  dress  on  that  very 
day,  and  the  scissors  were  not  into  it  yet.  Nearly  five 
minutes  elapsed  before  all  their  parting  words  were  said ; 


46        THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD. 


then  they  separated,  with  mutual  promises  to  sift  the 
matter  more  closely,  and  to  communicate,  one  to  another, 
any  thing  new  that  might  happen  to  be  learned. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

A  WEEK  passed,  and,  notwithstanding  Mrs.  Willifcs, 
in  league  with  Miss  Grimp  and  Mrs.  Jarvis,  had  been  all 
eye  and  all  ear,  so  to  speak,  yet  they  had  not  been  able 
to  learn  any  thing  satisfactory  to  themselves  about  the 
stranger  babe.  Each  of  the  ladies  had,  during  the  time, 
made  a  call  upon  Mrs.  Harding,  and  each  came  away, 
more  strongly  confirmed  in  her  first  conclusion,  that  she 
knew  a  great  deal  more  about  the  child  than  she  had 
cared  to  tell.  As  for  the  babe  itself,  there  could  be  but 
one  opinion.  Miss  Gimp  said  it  was  (t  lovely  $"  and 
when  she  spoke  of  an  infant  so  decidedly,  you  might  be 
sure  there  was  something  about  it  more  than  common. 

Meantime,  singular  changes  were  progressing  in  the 
home  where  the  little  offcast  had  found  an  asylum — 
changes  that  as  much  surprised  the  inmates  as  those 
who  looked  on  from  a  distance.  Grace  had  won  all 
hearts  from  the  beginning;  even  selfish,  rude,  ill-na 
tured  Andrew,  who  had  been  the  pest  of  the  family, 
stood  subdued  and  gentle  in  her  presence.  Before  she 
came,  his  greatest  delight  was  in  annoying  and  oppress 
ing  the  other  children ;  now  his  chief  pleasure  consisted 
in  holding  the  babe,  carrying  her  about,  or  playing  with 
her  as  she  lay  in  the  cradle.  So  attentive  was  he,  that 
Mrs.  Harding  scarcely  perceived  any  new  demand  upon 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD.        47 

her  time,  in  consequence  of  so  important  an  addition  to 
her  family.  Left  more  to  themselves,  by  the  diversion 
of  Andrew's  attention,  the  other  children — whose  almost 
incessant  strife  owed  its  origin  mainly  to  their  older 
brother's  interference — rarely  gave  way  to  a  wrangling 
spirit.  When  it  did  occur,  a  word  from  their  mother 
subdued  their  angry  feelings. 

Often  and  often  did  the  hands  of  Mrs.  Harding  pause 
in  her  work,  as  she  thought  intently  on  this  new  order 
of  things,  and  wondered  how  it  was,  that  a  single  word 
could  calm  the  stormy  passions  of  her  children,  when 
only  a  little  while  before,  nothing  but  a  more  violent 
storm  on  her  part  could  allay  the  tempest  on  theirs. 
How  greatly  she  was  herself  changed,  did  not  come 
with  clearness  into  her  apprehension  —  changed,  we 
mean,  in  her  external  aspects;  for,  internally,  no  real 
change  had  yet  taken  place  :  there  was  only  the  beginning 
of  a  change.  Nor  was  she  aware  how  different  were  her 
words  and  manner  of  speaking,  when  addressing  her 
children,  to  what  they  were  a  little  while  before. 

One  thing  the  children  did  not  fail  to  notice.  It  was 
this :  the  marked  difference  in  their  mother  when  Grace 
was  awake  and  in  the  sitting-room,  and  when  she  was 
asleep  in  the  adjoining  chamber.  She  was  always  gentler 
and  more  forbearing  toward  them  when  the  babe  was 
present  than  when  absent.  Nor  did  Mrs.  Harding  fail 
to  remark,  that  the  children  were  more  gentle  and  obe 
dient  when  Grace  was  in  the  room  with  them  than  when 
she  was  sleeping. 

Quite  as  remarkable  was  the  change  in  Mr.  Harding. 
IJe  never  came  in,  now,  with  a  heavy,  horse-like  tread, 
nor  banged  the  door  behind  him,  as  had  been  his  cus 
tom.  Nor  did  he  reprove  the  children,  when  in  fault, 
with  his  former  angry  violence .  Always  he  went  first  to 
look  at  the  babe,  as  if  that  were  uppermost  in  his 
thoughts.  And  what  seemed  to  please  him  particularly, 


48        THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD. 

was  the  fact,  that  little  Grace  began  to  flutter  her  tiny 
hands  the  moment  he  appeared,  and  never  seemed  better 
satisfied  than  when  in  his  arms.  Not  once,  since  she 
came  to  them,  like  a  gift  from  heaven,  as  she  was,  had 
he  left  home  in  the  evening,  to  spend  his  time  at  the 
tavern.  In  his  favour  it  may  be  said,  that  his  associa 
tions  at  the  tavern  had  never  presented  a  very  strong 
attraction ;  and  he  had  only  gone  there,  because  every 
thing  in  the  home-sphere,  owing  to  the  incongruities  of 
temper  between  him  and  his  wife,  was  disagreeable  and 
repulsive. 

We  have  omitted  thus  far  to  mention  that  Jacob 
Harding  was  a  carpenter  by  trade.  His  shop  stood  at 
no  great  distance  from  the  store  of  Willits  the  grocer, 
and  not  far  from  the  tavern  kept  by  a  worthless  fellow 
named  Stark,  who  was  doing  more  harm  in  the  neigh 
bourhood  in  a  single  month  than  he  had  ever  done  good 
in  his  life.  The  absence  of  Harding  from  the  bar-room 
of  Stark,  for  so  many  consecutive  evenings,  did  not  fail 
to  excite  the  tavern-keeper's  attention,  who,  not  liking  to 
lose  so  good  a  customer,  made  it  his  business  to  call  in  at 
the  shop  of  Harding,  and  in  a  familiar,  hale-fellow,  well- 
met  sort  of  a  way,  inquire  if  he  had  been  sick.  This 
was  about  a  week  after  the  appearance  of  little  Grace  in 
the  carpenter's  family.  Harding  answered  in  the  nega 
tive,  and  with  a  slight  coldness  of  manner. 

"  What's  the  matter,  then  ?"  said  Stark.  "  Any  thing 
wrong  at  home  ?" 

"  Nothing." 

"  We  wanted  you,  particularly,  last  night.  Tom 
Ellis,  from  Beechwood,  and  Jack  Fleming,  from  Avon- 
dale,  were  both  here.  They  had  a  jolly  time  of  it,  I  can 
tell  you;  and  if  they  asked  for  you  once,  they  did  a 
dozen  times.  You  don't  know  what  you' lost.  They're 
coming  over  again  this  evening.  You  must  be  sure  and 
meet  them,  for  I  promised  that  you  would  be  on  hand." 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD.        49 


"  You  were  a  little  too  fast  in  that,"  said  Harding,  as 
he  tightened  the  blade  in  his  jack-plane,  and  then 
sighted  the  edge  to  see  if  it  was  at  the  true  cutting 
distance. 

"  Why  so  ?"  asked  Stark. 

"  Because  I  shall  not  be  there." 

"  And  why  not,  pray  ?" 

"  Because  I'm  better  off,  and  better  contented,  at 
home,"  was  replied. 

"  Tied  to  your  wife's  apron-string." 

This  was  said  pleasantly,  yet  with  just  enough  of  sar 
casm  to  touch  the  quick  feelings  of  Harding,  without 
giving  offence. 

"I  never  was  tied  to  a  woman's  apron-string  in  my 
life,  and  never  expect  to  be.  Mary  Harding  knows  me 
far  too  well  to  attempt  any  thing  of  that  kind." 

The  tavern-keeper  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  arched 
his  coarse  eyebrows  in  a  way  that  said,  "  I  can  believe 
as  much  of  that  as  I  please." 

The  quick  temper  of  Harding  took  fire,  and  he  was 
about  making  a  sharp  retort;  but,  singularly  enough, 
the  image  of  little  Grace  came  suddenly  before  the  eyes 
of  his  mind,  and  something  in  her  innocent  face  subdued 
and  tranquillized  him. 

"Look  here,  Harding."  Stark  spoke  in  a  coarse, 
rough  way.  "  What's  this  I  hear  about  somebody's  brat 
being  left  at  your  door?  Is  it  so? — or  only  Gimp- 
gossip  ?" 

"  A .  young  babe  was  left  at  my  door,"  Harding 
answered,  coldly,  and,  at  the  same  time,  commenced 
driving  his  plane  over  a  rough  board  that  lay  on  his 
work-bench. 

"  You  don't  tell  me  so !  Well,  what  have  you  done 
with  it  ?" 

"  Kept  it." 

"Kept  it!     You're  joking!     I  thought  you  had  a 


50        THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD. 


house  full  of  your  own — more  than  you  could  get  bread 
for  without  making  a  slave  of  yourself." 

Harding  felt  annoyed,  as  well  at  the  tavern-keeper's 
words  as  his  manner,  and  an  angry  retort  was  on  his 
tongue.  But  he  controlled  himself,  and  merely  answered, 
with  assumed  indifference — 

"  We  haven't  found  it  in  the  way,  so  far." 

"Whose   is   it?"    inquired   Stark,  still   in   his  rude 
manner. 
f    "  Don't  know,"  replied  Harding. 

"  Why  don't  you  send  it  to  the  poor-house  ?  I'd  do 
it  in  less  than  no  time." 

"  When  we  are  tired  of  keeping  it,  perhaps  we  will 
do  so." 

Stark  began  now  to  see  that  his  way  of  speaking  to 
the  carpenter  was  not  altogether  relished ;  and,  as  it  was 
by  no  means  his  interest  to  offend  one  of  his  customers, 
he  changed,  somewhat,  his  manner  of  addressing  him. 
But  he  failed  altogether  in  his  effort  to  restore  the  old 
state  of  feeling  that  had  existed  between  them. 

From  the  shop  of  Harding,  Stark  went  to  the  store  of 
Mr.  Willits,  where  he  bought  a  barrel  of  sugar  and  a 
bag  of  coffee.  He  was  about  the  only  man  in  the  neigh 
bourhood  whose  pocket-book  was  sufficiently  well  filled 
to  warrant  the  purchase  of  groceries  in  such  liberal 
quantities. 

"  Make  out  the  bill  and  receipt  it,"  said  he,  in  a  self- 
satisfied  voice. 

"  I  like  that,"  was  the  pleasant  response  of  the  store 
keeper.  "  I  wish  all  my  customers  were  as  ready  to  put 
the  cash  down.' 

"  Pay  as  you  go — that  is  my  motto,"  returned  Stark. 
"  You'll  not  find  my  name  on  anybody's  books." 

"  It's  the  safest  kind  of  a  motto,  and  one  that  I  shall 
have  to  suggest  to  two  or  three  people  about  here,  even 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD.        51 


should  I  offend  them,"  said  Willits.     "  Harding,  for  in 
stance,  between  you  and  me." 

"  Jacob  Harding !  Why,  is  he  running  behind 
hand  ?" 

The  storekeeper,  before  answering,  threw  open  his 
ledger,  and,  after  glancing  rapidly  along  a  column  of 
figures  on  one  of  the  pages,  said — 

"  Yes ;  to  the  tune  of  a  hundred  dollars  in  six 
months." 

"  Whew !  And  he's  the  man  that  takes  in  stray 
babies?  He  can  afford  to  be  generous — at  your  ex 
pense." 

"  Not  any  longer.  Thank  you  for  that  hint.  I'll  act 
upon  it  at  once." 

And  so  he  did ;  for,  at  that  moment,  Andrew  Harding 
entered  the  store,  with  a  wooden  pail  in  his  hand,  and 
said  that  his  mother  had  sent  him  for  six  pounds  of  flour 
and  two  pounds  of  sugar. 

"  Have  you  brought  the  money  ?"  asked  Willits. 

"  No,  sir.     Mother  says,  charge  it." 

"  Tell  your  mother  that  I  can't  charge  any  thing 
more." 

The  boy  looked  bewildered.  He  did  not  clearly 
understand  the  storekeeper. 

"  Tell  your  mother  that  she  must  send  the  money. 
I  can't  trust  any  more." 

Andrew  retired  slowly,  his  mind  in  considerable  per 
plexity,  and  bore  the  message  to  his  mother. 

"That's  right,"  said  Stark,  approvingly.  "It's  the 
only  safe  way  to  do  business.  I  rather  think  Harding 
will  be  as  mad  as  a  March  hare.  You  may  look  out  for 
a  squall  before  night." 

"Let  it  come;  I'm  not  at  all  concerned,"  replied 
Willits. 

"  I  hope,"  said  Stark,  growing  serious,  "  that  nothing 
I  have  said  has  caused  you  to  take  this  stand  with 


52        THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD. 

Harding.  (t  We've  always  been  on  good  terms ;  and  I 
wouldn't  say  any  thing  to  injure  him  for  the  world." 

"  Oh,  no.  My  mind  was  pretty  well  made  up  before 
you  came  in.  That  baby  business  decided  me.  Mrs. 
Willits  and  I  were  talking  it  over  last  night,  and  we 
both  came  to  the  conclusion  that,  if  he  couldn't  make 
both  ends  meet  before,  there*  was  no  hope  for  him  now. 
We  did  think,  at  first,  that  a  money  inducement  caused 
him  to  keep  the  child;  but  Mrs.  Harding  assured  my 
wife,  yesterday,  that  not  a  farthing  came  with  it,  nor 
was  promised  at  any  future  time.  If  they  are  fools 
enough  to  take  up  a  burden  like  this,  they  mustn't  ex 
pect  me  to  bear  it  for  them." 

"  This  refusal  on  your  part  may  do  them  good,"  said 
Stark.  "  It  will,  at  least,  open  their  eyes  to  their  true 
position.  I  rather  think  the  child  will  find  its  way  into 
the  poor-house  before  it  is  a  week  older." 

"  I  don't  care  where  it  goes,  or  what  becomes  of  it," 
answered  the  storekeeper,  "so  I  get  my  money." 

Soon  after  Stark  left  the  shop  of  Jacob  Harding,  the 
latter  put  on  his  coat  and  hat,  and  went  over  to  the 
house  of  a  farmer,  named  Lee,  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
distant.  This  Lee,  a  rather  thriftless  sort  of  a  man,  who 
spent  far  too  large  a  portion  of  his  time  and  money  at 
Stark' s  tavern,  owed  the  carpenter  a  hundred  and  fifty 
dollars  for  new  roofing  his  house,  and  doing  sundry  re 
pairs  to  his  dilapidated  old  barn.  The  account  had  been 
standing  for  some  months.  On  the  payment  of  this 
money,  Harding  had  intended  settling  his  bill  at  the 
grocer's.  The  manner  of  Willits,  on  the  day  before, 
when  he  had  called  to  get  half  a  pound  of  tea  and  some 
corn  meal,  annoyed  him  considerably.  He  saw  that  the 
storekeeper  was  getting  uneasy  at  the  size  of  his  account, 
which,  but  for  the  failure  to  procure  a  settlement  with 
Lee,  would  have  been  long  since  paid  off.  He  had 
brooded  over  this  until  a  sort  of  desperate  feeling  took 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD.        53 


possession  of  him ;  and,  in  this  state  of  mind,  he  went 
over  to  see  the  farmer. 

"  Can't  do  any  thing  for  you,"  said  Lee,  in  the  coolest 
way  imaginable,  on  llarding's  asking  for  a  settlement. 
"  Haven't  ten  dollars  in  cash  to  bless  myself  with,  let 
alone  a  hundred  and  fifty." 

Harding  felt  exceedingly  fretted  at  this-  way  of  treat 
ing  him,  and  said,  quite  sharply — 

"  Pray,  Mr.  Lee,  when  do  you  intend  settling  my 
account  ?" 

"  Some  of  these  days,"  replied  the  farmer,  indif 
ferently. 

"  That  way  of  doing  business  don't  suit  me.  I  want 
something  definite.  I  paid  the  cash  down  for  the 
shingles  that  cover  your  roof;  and 'now  I  want  my 
money." 

"  Don't  get  excited,  Harding  :  it  won't  do  any  good," 
said  Lee.  "  The  man  doesn't  live  about  here  that  can 
drive  this  horse  ;  so  you  needn't  try." 

This  was  more  than  the  carpenter  could  bear.  Bit 
terly  did  he  retort  upon  the  farmer,  and  left  him, 
finally,  with  threats  of  an  immediate  resort  to  law  for 
the  recovery  of  his  bill. 

When  Harding  and  his  wife  met  at  dinner-time,  each 
perceived  in  the  other's  countenance  a  troubled  aspect. 
Harding's  heavy  brows  were  drawn  down;  and  about  his 
wife's  mouth  was  the  old  look  of  fretfuluess  that  had  so 
often  repelled  him.  For  the  first  time,  he  passed  the 
cradle  without  even  looking  at  Grace,  whose  round, 
white  arms  had  commenced  flying  the  moment  she 
heard  the  sound  of  his  footsteps  across  the  threshold; 
and,  going  into  the  yard,  he  took  up  the  axe,  and  com 
menced  splitting  up  a  stick  of  cord  wood.  This  done, 
he  came  back  into  the  house,  again  passing-the  cradle, 
and  sitting  down,  in  moody  silence,  at  the  dinner-table, 
on  which  their  meal  had  already  been  served.  While 

5* 


54        THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD. 

cutting  up  the  meat,  and  helping  it  around,  the  low, 
sweet,  coaxing  murmur  of  the  baby's  voice  sounded  in 
his  ears.  The  cradle  was  only  a  little  way  from  him, 
and  so  turned  that  Grace  could  see  him.  And  there 
she  lay,  fluttering  her  arms,  and  cooing,  and  trying  all 
means  in  her  power  to  arrest  his  attention.  Yet,  reso 
lutely,  he  kept  his  eyes  turned  away  from  the  imploring 
little  one.  But  weaker,  each  moment,  became  his  reso 
lution  ;  for  her  voice  came  to  his  ears  like  the  music  of 
David's  harp  to  Saul,  driving  out  the  evil  spirit.  At 
last  he  could  resist  the  babe's  pleadings  no  longer. 
Almost  stealthily,  he  turned  his  eyes  upon  her.  One 
look  was  enough.  The  tenderness  of  a  mother  filled  his 
heart.  So  sudden  was  the  revulsion  of  his  feelings,  that, 
for  a  few  moments,  he  was  bewildered.  But  of  one 
thing  he  was  soon  clearly  conscious,  and  that  was  of 
having  Grace  in  his  arms,  and  hugging  her  almost  pas 
sionately  to  his  heart. 


THE  ANGEL  OP  THE  HOUSEHOLD.        55 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE  suddenness  with  which  Harding  arose  from  the 
table  and  caught  up  the  child,  which  he  had  not  seemed 
to  notice  since  he  came  in,  and  the  eager  way  in  which 
he  held  it  to  his  heart,  naturally  excited  the  surprise  of 
his  wife,  who  looked  at  him  wonderingly.  His  indif 
ference  toward  Grace  had  not  been  unobserved  by  Mrs. 
Harding.  She  saw  that  he  was  in  one  of  his  unhappy 
moods — that  a  dark  cloud  was  on  his  spirit — and  that 
only  a  word  was  needed  to  awaken  a  fierce  storm.  And, 
more  than  all  this,,  the  message  brought  from  the  store 
keeper  by  Andrew  had  so  deeply  angered  her,  that  her 
mind  was  still  panting  under  the  excitement,  and  still 
fretting  itself  with  indignant  thoughts;  so  that  she,  too, 
was  ready  for  strife.  It  had  been  as  much  as  she  could 
do  to  keep  back  from  her  lips  words  of  sharp  reproof, 
for  the  cruel  indifference  manifested  by  her  husband 
toward  the  pleading  babe  :  most  probably,  a  few  minutes 
longer  of  forced  neglect  on  his  part,  would  have  brought 
down  upon  him  a  storm  of  words  that  would  have  marred 
every  thing  for  little  Grace,  and  made  her  presence,  in 
the  household,  ever  after,  a  cause  of  angry  contention. 
Happily,  the  quick-tempered  wife  controlled  her  strug 
gling  impulses  long  enough  for  better  influences  to  pre 
vail.  As  she  looked  at  the  singular  exhibition  of  feeling 
in  her  husband,  she  was  touched  by  softer  emotions. 
The  incident  gave  her  a  deeper  insight  into  his  charac 
ter,  while  it  quickened  her  own  thoughts  into  self- 
reproaches  for  the  misjudgment  which  had  wellnigh 
fanned  a  few  embers  into  fiercely  burning  flames  of 
discord. 


56        THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD. 


As  for  Harding,  now  that  the  repressed  tenderness  of 
his  heart  had  free  course,  he  found  himself  carried  away 
as  by  a  flood.  The  babe  in  his  arms  felt  more  precious 
to  him  than  life  itself;  and  it  seemed  as  if  he  could 
never  be  done  hugging  it  to  his  heart.  When,  at 
length,  he  reseated  himself  at  the  dinner-table,  with 
Grace  on  his  knee,  and  looked  over  to  his  wife,  the  cloud 
had  passed  from  her  countenance. 

"  What  possessed  you/'  she  said,  smiling,  and  in  a 
pleasant  voice,  "  to  neglect  the  sweet  child  so  ?  She  was 
almost  dying  to  have  you  notice  her." 

Harding  did  not  answer,  but  merely  drew  Grace  close 
against  him,  and,  bending  over,  talked  to  her  in  fond, 
childish  language. 

A  calm  followed  this  little  exciting  episode,  in  which 
both  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Harding  looked  and  felt  sober,  but 
not  ill-natured.  After  dinner,  as  Harding  was  preparing 
to  leave  the  house,  he  took  some  silver  change  from  his 
pocket,  and  handing  it  to  his  wife,  said — 

fl  Our  bill  at  the  store  is  getting  rather  large.  Don't 
send  for  any  thing  without  the  money.  Here  are  two 
dollars  and  a  half  for  any  little  thing  you  may  want." 

The  change  in  his  wife's  countenance  as  he  said  this 
arrested  Harding's  attention. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?"  he  asked,  abruptly. 

"  Nothing  much,"  she  replied,  her  face  flushing  as  she 
spoke.  "  Only  I'm  glad  you've  left  me  some  money,  for 
we're  out  of  flour,  and — and" 

"  And  what  ?"  She  paused,  stammering,  and  Hard 
ing  saw  that  something  was  wrong. 

"  Nothing,  only  Willits  sent  word  this  morning,  that 
he  wouldn't  let  us  have  any  thing  more,  unless  we  paid 
the  money  down !" 

"  He  did  !"  A  fierce  light  burned  instantly  in  the 
eye  of  Jacob  Harding,  and  his  lips  were  drawn  back 
against  his  teeth. 


THE  ANGEL  OP  THE  HOUSEHOLD.        57 


"Yes,"  said  his  wife,  forcing  herself  to  speak  in  a 
mild  and  soothing  way ;  "  but  no  matter,  Jacob.  Let  us 
try  to  get  on  without  asking  for  credit  anywhere.  I'll 
do  my  best  to  economize  in  every  thing.  It  chafes  me 
to  be  under  obligations  to  anybody,  and  especially  to  the 
\VilHts.  I  don't  like  any  of  the  family." 

"  That's  talking  outright,  Mary !"  said  Harding,  the 
threatening  scowl  on  his  heavy  brow  suddenly  breaking 
away;  and,  as  he  spoke,  he  thrust  his  hand  a  second 
time  into  his  trousers  pocket,  and  drew  out  a  handful  of 
small  change,  which  he  counted  over. 

"  Here  are  three  dollars  more,"  he  added.  "  It's  all 
the  money  I  have  just  now,  and  may  be  all  I  shall  receive 
this  week.  Make  it  go  as  far  as  you  can." 

"  You  may  be  sure  I  will  do  that,  Jacob,"  replied  his 
wife,  kindly  and  earnestly. 

"  Wouldn't  trust  us  any  more  !"  Harding's  mind  re 
turned  to  this  hard,  unpleasant,  mortifying  fact.  "  Very 
well — so  let  it  be.  He's  had  a  good  deal  of  my  money 
in  his  time — I  hardly  think  he  will  get  as  much  in  the 
future.  Don't  you  buy  any  thing  there  that  you  can  do 
without.  The  next  time  I  go  over  to  Beechwood,  I  will 
lay  in  a  good  stock  of  things,  if  I  happen  to  have  the 
money.  I  saw  Lee  to-day,  and  tried  to  get  him  to  settle 
that  bill  of  his;  but  he  put  me  off  again,  and  is  more  in 
different  about  it  than  ever.  I  got  out  of  all  patience, 
and  threatened  to  put  the  sheriff  on  him.  It  will  have 
to  come  to  this  sooner  or  later;  and  the  quicker  it  is 
done,  the  quicker  I  shall  get  my  money." 

"Couldn't  you  trade  off  the  account  to  "Willits,  and 
thus  save  a  world  of  trouble  ?"  suggested  the  wife. 

Mr.  Harding  caught  at  this  suggestion,  and,  after 
turning  it  over  in  his  mind  for  a  few  moments,  said — 

"  I  don't  know,  Mary,  but  that  might  be  done.  Now 
that  I  come  to  think  of  it,  I  remember  hearing  some 
body  say  that  Willits  was  about  buying  that  house  and 


58        THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD. 


acre  lot  where  Jones  lives.  You  know  it  belongs  to  Mr. 
Lee.  There's  no  doubt  in  the  world  but  that  he  could 
settle  my  account  in  the  transaction.  I'll  see  him  about 
it  this  very  afternoon." 

"  Do,  Jacob/'  answered  his  wife,  encouragingly.  "  It 
will  be  such  a  relief  to  have  this  all  off  our  minds." 

In  spite  of  his  indignation  against  Willits,  Harding 
went  direct  to  his  store.  The  latter,  on  seeing  him 
enter,  made  up  his  mind  for  a  sharp  passage  of  words 
with  the  fiery  tempered  carpenter.  Still,  he  managed  to 
receive  him  with  a  forced  smile. 

"  How  much  have  you  against  me  on  your  books  ?" 
inquired  Harding,  speaking  firmly,  and  with  a  sober 
countenance,  yet  repressing,  as  far  as  possiMe,  all  ap 
pearance  of  anger. 

The  storekeeper,  affecting  a  pleasant  manner,  turned 
over  his  ledger,  and,  glancing  at  the  account,  rvhich  was 
already  footed  up,  replied — 

"  One  hundred  and  fourteen  dollars." 

"  So  much  as  that  ?"     Harding  showed  surprise. 

"  I  will  make  you  out  a  bill  of  items,  day  *^\id  date, 
and  you  can  examine  the  account.  I  presume  you  will 
find  every  charge  correct." 

"I  expected  to  have  paid  this  long  ago,"  s**id  the 
carpenter,  "but  have  been  disappointed  in  getting  a 
large  bill.  To-day  I  tried  my  best  to  collect,  b>*t  I'm 
afraid  there's  no  chance  for  me,  unless  I  go  to  law,  and  I 
don't  want  to  do  that." 

"  Whose  account  is  it  ?"  inquired  "Willits. 

'  The  one  I  have  against  Lee  for  roofing  his  tause? 
and  repairing  his  barn," 

"  Is  k  possible  he  hasn't  paid  that  yet  ?" 

«  Not  a  cent  of  it." 

The  storekeeper  looked  serious  for  a  few  moments, 
then,  shaking  his  head,  he  remarked— 

"  That's  not  right  in  Lee." 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD.        59 


11  No,  it  is  not  right/7  said  Harding,  warmly.  "  If  he 
had  paid  me,  I  would  not  now  be  in  debt  a  single 
dollar." 

"  Have  you  any  objection  to  transferring  your  account 
to  me  ?"  Willits  hesitated  a  little,  as  if  fearful  the  pro 
position  would  not  be  received  with  favour.  "I  have 
some  business  transactions  with  Lee,  in  which,  most 
probably,  I  could  manage  to  include  your  bill." 

"  The  very  thing  I  thought  of  proposing  to  you,"  said 
Harding.  "I  understand  you  are  about  buying  the 
property  now  occupied  by  Jones ;  and  it  has  occurred  to 
me  that  you  might  save  my  account  in  fhe  purchase, 
thus  obliging  me  and  getting  a  settlement  of  your  own 
bill  at  the  same  time." 

"It  can  all  be  done,  no  doubt,"  replied  the  store 
keeper.  "  Lee  has  offered  the  house  and  grounds  at  a 
fair  price,  and  is  anxious  for  me  to  buy — so  anxious, 
that  a  proposition  to  take  your  claim  against  him  in  part 
payment  will  be  no  impediment  to  the  bargain.  The 
best  way  for  you  to  proceed  will  be  to  get  his  note  in 
settlement.  He'll  give  that  readily  enough,  in  order  to 
gain  time,  and  get  rid  of  the  annoyance  of  being  dunned. 
This  note  you  can  endorse  to  me,  and  I  will  pay  it  over 
to  him." 

Perfectly  satisfactory  to  both  parties  was  the  proposed 
arrangement,  and  the  two  men  separated  in  much  better 
humour  with  themselves  and  each  other  than  when  they 
met.  During  the  afternoon,  Harding  called  again  on 
Mr.  Lee,  who  readily  acceded  to  his  request,  and  gave 
him  his  note,  at  six  months,  in  settlement  of  the 
account. 

"  Pleasant  news,  Mary,"  said  the  carpenter,  as  he 
came  home  at  sundown.  "  My  name  is  off  of  Willits' 
books." 

"  Off  of  his  books  !  How,  Jacob  ?"  Mrs.  Harding 
did  not  see  his  meaning  clearly. 


60        THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD. 

"  I've  settled  his  account." 

"  Have  you  ?     Oh  !  I'm  so  glad." 

"  And  better  still,  Mary :  he  owes  me  thirty-six  dol 
lars,  which  I  have  agreed  to  take  out  of  his  store,  as  we 
want  things  in  his  line." 

"  It  is  pleasant  news,  indeed,  Jacob.  But  how  did  all 
this  come  to  pass  ?" 

"  Just  in  the  way  you  suggested.  Willits  has  taken 
my  bill  against  Lee,  and  credited  me  with  the  difference 
between  that  and  the  account  on  his  books." 

"  Oh  !  I  am  so  glad :  it  has  taken  such  a  load  off  of 
me,"  said  Mrs.  Harding.  "I  don't  believe  Mr.  Lee 
would  ever  have  paid  the  bill  without  your  suing  him ; 
and  I  dread  lawsuits  above  every  thing :  they  always 
bring  trouble  to  both  sides." 

Already,  Grace  was  in  the  great,  strong  arms  of  the 
carpenter;  and  Lotty,  between  whom  and  her  father  a 
new  and  gentler  relation  had  existed  ever  since  the 
stranger-babe  came  to  them,  was  leaning  on  his  knee 
and  playing  with  the  happy  little  one. 

At  this  moment,  a  form  darkened  the  door.  It  was 
the  form  of  a  woman,  just  past  life's  middle  age.  Her 
countenance  was  strongly  marked — the  lines  as  indica 
tive  of  patient  endurance  as  great  suffering.  She  was 
tall  in  person,  with  the  carriage  of  one  who  had  moved 
in  polished  circles. 

"Can  you  tell  me,"  said  she,  as  she  advanced  one 
foot  inside  of  the  door,  "  how  far  it  is  to  Beechwood  ?" 

"Nearly  two  miles,  ma'am,"  replied  Mrs.  Harding, 
who  had  turned,  on  perceiving  the  presence  of  a 
stranger. 

" So  far  away?"  said  the  woman,  in  apparent  concern 
"  I  can't  possibly  reach  there  before  dark." 

"  You  certainly  cannot,"  replied  Mrs.  Harding.  She 
then  added,  "Won't  you  come  in  and  rest  yourself?" 


THE  ANGEL  OP  THE  HOUSEHOLD.        61 

"  Thank  you/'  returned  the  stranger,  stepping  across 
the  threshold,  and  advancing  a  few  paces  into  the  room. 

"  What  a  dear,  sweet  babe  1"  she  said,  as,  on  taking  a 
chair,  she  fixed  her  eyes,  with  a  tender,  admiring  gaze, 
upon  the  babe  that  still  remained  in  Harding' s  arms. 
She  could  not  have  offered  a  remark  better  calculated  to 
make  a  favourable  impression  on  the  minds  of  the  car 
penter  and  his  wife. 

"What  is  her  name?"  she  asked,  after  a  moment's 
pause. 

"  We  call  her  Grace/'  replied  Mrs.  Harding,  all  her 
countenance  lit  up  with  pleasure. 

"  Grace — Grace,"  said  the  woman,  half  speaking  to 
herself,  in  an  abstracted  way.  "A  beautiful  name," 
she  added;  "none  more  beautiful."  And  then  she 
bent  forward,  and  gazed  at  the  child  with  such  an 
earnest,  tender  expression,  that  Mrs.  Harding,  who  was 
observing  her  intently,  felt  a  troubled  consciousness  that 
she  knew  something  of  the  child,  and  did  not  now  look 
upon  it  for  the  first  time  in  her  life. 

There  was  about  the  stranger  a  bearing  that  inspired 
involuntary  respect.  Her  calm,  intelligent  eyes  looked 
into  those  of  the  carpenter  and  his  wife  in  a  way  that 
caused  them  to  feel  a  singular  deference ;  and  when  she 
referred  again  to  the  long  distance  she  had  still  to  go, 
and  spoke,  in  a  troubled  voice,  of  the  gathering  darkness, 
Harding  said,  looking  at  his  wife — 

"If  the  lady  will  accept  what  poor  accommodations 
our  house  will  afford,  she  need  not  go  to  Beechwood 
to-night.  What  say  you,  Mary  ?" 

"  She  is  welcome  to  the  best  we  have  to  give/'  was 
the  answer  of  Mrs.  Harding. 

"I  did  not  expect  this,"  said  the  woman,  evidently 
touched  by  the  proffered  hospitality;  "nor  do  I  know 
whether  it  will  be  altogether  right  for  me  to  trespass  on 


62        THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD. 

your  kindness.  If  there  is  a  respectable  tavern  in  the 
neighbourhood" 

Harding  shook  his  head,  as  he  answered— r- 

"  There  is  no  tavern  about  here  but  Stark's,  and  I 
couldn't  advise  you  to  go  there.  If  you  will  remain  in 
our  poor  home,  believe  yourself  entirely  welcome." 

"Let  me  take  your  bonnet  and  shawl,"  said  Mrs. 
Harding,  encouragingly;  and  she  reached  out  her  handa 
to  receive  them. 

The  woman  hesitated  only  a  moment,  and  then  re 
moving  her  bonnet  and  shawl,  gave  them  to  her  hostess, 
who  took  them  into  the  adjoining  chamber.  As  Mrs. 
Harding  returned  to  the  apartment  she  had  just  left,  she 
was  struck  with  the  singular  beauty  of  the  woman's 
countenance — bearing  though  it  did  the  marks  of  time- 
as  well  as  by  the  depth  and  brilliancy  of  her  eyes,  that 
were  fixed,  almost  as  if  by  fascination,  on  the  infant 
which  still  lay  against  the  bosom  of  her  husband. 

All  parties  were  now,  for  a  time,  in  a  state  of  embar 
rassment.  Harding  felt  a  little  uncomfortable  in  the 
presence  of  the  woman,  whose  eyes,  whenever  they 
rested  upon  him,  seemed  as  if  trying  to  read  his  very 
thoughts;  and  the  stranger,  conscious  of  the  effect  her 
entrance  had  produced,  did  not  feel  altogether  at  ease. 

"Let  me  have  that  dear  babe,"  said  the  woman, 
reaching  out  her  hands  toward  Grace. 

The  little  one  shrunk  closer  against  the  breast  of 
Harding,  while  a  shade,  almost  of  fear,  darkened  her 
face. 

"  "Won't  you  come  ?" 

The  woman  spoke  in  soft  and  winning  tones,  and  still 
extended  her  hands;  but  the  babe  could  not  be  lured 
from  its  place. 

At  this  moment,  Andrew  came  in,  rudely,  dashing 
his  hat  upon  the  floor,  and  pushing  his  sister  Lucy  aside 
so  roughly  as  almost  to  throw  her  down.  Lucy  gave  an 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD.        63 

angry  scream  at  this  violence,  and  called  her  brother 
some  vile  name.  The  woman  turned,  half  startled,  at 
this  sudden  outbreak,  and  fixed  her  dark,  penetrating 
eyes  on  Andrew,  who,  now  first  conscious  of  the  pre 
sence  of  a  stranger,  became  quiet,  and  slirunk  away  into 
the  farther  part  of  the  room,  the  eyes  of  the  woman  still 
following  him. 

"  Is  that  the  place  for  your  hat,  sir  ?" 

Anger,  as  well  as  mortification,  caused  Harding  to 
speak  roughly  to  the  boy.  The  woman  seemed  quite  as 
much  startled  by  the  voice  of  the  father  as  she  had  been 
by  the  rudeness  of  the  son.  The  look  she  threw  upon 
him  was  timid — almost  fearful;  and  her  eyes  passed 
rapidly  from  his  dark,  threatening  face,  to  the  calm, 
sweet,  confiding  countenance  of  the  infant,  who  seemed 
not  in  the  least  disturbed  by  the  sudden  gust  of  passion 
which  had  come  sweeping  over  the  little  household. 

Andrew  looked  sulky  and  stubborn  for  a  few  moments 
only;  then  he  returned  to  the  place  where  his  hat  lay 
upon  the  floor,  and  taking  it  up,  hung  it  upon  a  nail. 
In  the  next  minute  he  stood  beside  the  baby,  who,  the 
instant  she  saw  him,  arose  from  her  reclining  posi 
tion,  reached  out  her  little  hands  to  him,  and  almost 
springing  into  his  arms,  gave  voice  to  her  pleasure  and 
affection  in  sounds  as  well  understood  as  if  the  utterance 
had  been  in  words.  Andrew  bore  her  in  a  sort  of 
triumph  about  the  room ;  while  the  stern  features  of  his 
father  gradually  relaxed,  as  his  eyes  followed  the  happy 
babe,  until  no  trace  remained  therein  of  the  anger  which 
disfigured  it  a  little  while  before.  Lucy,  too,  forgot  her 
indignation  against  Andrew,  and,  moving  close  beside 
her  brother,  clapped  her  hand  at  Grace,  and  talked  to 
her  with  a  voice  so  full  of  tenderness,  that  the  stranger 
looked  at  her  in  wonder,  hardly  crediting  the  fact  that 
she  was  the  same  little  girl  who,  scarcely  a  moment  be 
fore,  had  startled  her  with  a  shrill  cry  of  anger. 


64        THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD. 

Silent,  yet  attentively  observant  of  all  that  passed, 
did  the  visitor  now  remain,  until  supper  was  ready,  and 
she  was  invited  to  join  the  family  in  their  evening 
meal. 

"Do  you  reside  in  Beechwood?"  inquired  Harding, 
addressing  the  stranger,  soon  after  they  had  gathered 
around  the  table. 

"No,  sir,"  was  her  simple  answer,  somewhat  coolly 
made,  as  though  she  wished  to  repel  inquiry. 

"  You  have  friends  there  ?"  said  Harding,  who,  as  he 
observed  the  stranger  more  narrowly,  felt  his  curiosity  in 
regard  to  her  increasing.  Particularly  did  her  manner 
of  looking  at  the  child  excite  his  attention :  to  him  it 
seemed  as  if  she  made  an  effort  to  conceal  the  interest 
really  felt  by  her  in  the  little  one. 

"Yes,  I  have  friends  there,"  she  replied;  and  then 
said,  almost  in  the  same  breath,  "  How  old  is  your  little 
Grace  ?" 

Harding  looked  at  his  wife,  and  she  looked  at  him. 
Both  seemed  taken  by  surprise  at  the  question;  and 
both  were  slightly  confused. 

"  How  old  is  it,  Mary  ?"  asked  Harding. 

"  About  nine  weeks,"  replied  Mrs.  Harding,  her  face 
receiving  a  shade  of  colour  as  she  spoke. 

The  stranger  looked  at  her  intently.  Mrs.  Harding's 
eyes  fell  under  the  steady  gaze. 

"  A  bright  child  for  nine  weeks  old,"  remarked  the 
woman. 

Then  she  seemed  to  lose  herself  in  thought,  and  once 
or  twice  sighed  deeply.  After  the  supper-table  was 
cleared  away,  and  the  children  were  all  in  bed,  her  man 
ner  underwent  a  change.  She  was  now  entirely  at  her 
ease,  and  conversed  in  so  attractive  a  way  with  the  car 
penter  and  his  wife,  that  both  found  themselves  strangely 
drawn  toward  her,  and  ready  to  answer  freely  in  regard 
to  their  personal  affairs,  about  which  she  inquired  with 


THE  ANGEL  OP  THE  HOUSEHOLD.        65 

an  interest  they  felt  to  be  genuine.  About  people  in  the 
neighbourhood  she  also  asked  questions;  and  when  re 
ference  was  made  to  Stark  the  tavern-keeper,  she  spoke 
strongly  of  the  danger  of  visiting  such  houses  as  he 
kept. 

"  It  gratified  me  more  than  I  can  express/'  she  said, 
looking  at  Harding,  "  to  find  you  at  home,  during  the 
evening,  with  your  family.  There  is  every  thing  to 
hope,  for  a  sober,  industrious  man.  Your  struggle  with 
the  world  may  be  hard  for  a  time,  but  keep  a  brave 
heart.  With  temperance,  industry,  and  frugality  at 
home,  you  are  sure  to  rise  above  your  present  .position. 
It  is  our  first  meeting,  and  it  may  be  our  last ;  but  if  we 
ever  do  meet  again,  I  shall  expect  to  find  that  Andrew 
Harding  has  taken  a  long  stride  in  the  way  of  pros 
perity/' 

There  was  more  in  her  manner  than  in  her  words 
that  impressed  the  mind  of  the  carpenter.  But  no  mat 
ter  in  which  lay  the  influence,  Harding  felt  new  pur 
poses  growing  up  in  his  heart ;  and  he  even  said  to  him 
self,  "If  ever  we  do  meet  again,  it  shall  be  as  you 
predict/' 

At  an  early  hour,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Harding  retired, 
after  having  shown  their  guest  to  the  little  spare  room 
kept  for  visitors. 

"  I  must  have  one  look  at  that  dear  babe  of  yours," 
she  said,  as  she  was  about  leaving  them  for  the  night. 

Mrs.  Harding  led  her  into  her  own  chamber,  where 
Grace  was  sleeping,  and  drew  down  the  bed-clothes  from 
the  face  of  the  infant.  The  woman  bent  low  over  it, 
and,  for  a  time  that  seemed  long  to  Mrs.  Harding,  stood 
gazing  upon  the  calm  face  before  her,  so  full  of  heavenly 
innocence.  There  were  tears  on  her  lashes,  when,  with 
a  deep,  quivering  sigh,  she  lifted  herself  from  the  babe. 
Placing  a  hand  on  the  shoulder  of  Mrs.  Harding,  and 
6* 


66        THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD. 


raising  a  finger  slowly  upward,  she  said,  in  a  tone  so 
solemn,  that  it  thrilled  to  the  heart  of  her  auditor — 

"  God  has  committed  to  your  care  one  of  the  precious 
ones  whose  angels  are  ever  before  his  face.  Oh !  never 
forget  your  high  responsibility.  Love,  cherish,  keep 
the  dear  one." 

The  woman's  voice  faltered.  She  made  an  attempt 
to  say  more;  but,  as  if  conscious  that  she  was  betray 
ing  too  much  feeling,  turned  away  quickly,  and  re 
tired  to  the  little  chamber  that  had  been  assigned 
to  her. 

On  the  next  morning,  breakfast  was  all  ready,  ere  the 
stranger  joined  the  family. 

"  Had  you  not  better  call  her  ?"  said  Harding  to  his 
wife.  "  • 

Mrs.  Harding  stepped  to  the  door  of  the  guest-cham 
ber,  and  tapped  lightly.  Slie  tapped  a  second  time,  for 
there  was  neither  movement  nor  reply ;  yet  all  remained 
silent.  A  louder  summons  was  answered  only  by  its 
own  echo. 

Wondering  at  this,  Mrs.  Harding  lifted  the  latch,  and 
pushed  open  the  door. 

"  There  is  no  one  here,  Andrew,"  she  said,  in  a 
startled  voice. 

"  No  one,  Mary  !" 

u  Even  the  bed  is  not  tumbled  !    What  can  it  mean  ?" 

The  carpenter  now  stood  beside  his  wife,  and  both 
entered  the  room  together.  There  was  no  evidence 
whatever  that  any  one  had  passed  the  night  there.  On 
the  little  dressing-table  was  a  narrow  slip  of  white  paper, 
which  Mrs.  Harding  caught  up.  On  it  was  written 
simply  these  words — 

"  Grace  Harding.  Ten  weeks  old  to-day.  June  4th, 
18—." 

"It  is  very  strange I"  said  the  carpenter,  with  a  look 
of  doubt  and  wonder  on  his  countenance. 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD.        67 


tf  Very  strange  I"  echoed  his  wife,  in  a  troubled 
voice. 

"  Who  can  she  be  ?" 

"One/1  answered  Mrs.  Harding,  "who  knows  all 
about  our  little  Grace.  I  felt  that  it  was  so  last 
night." 

And  weak,  pale,  and  trembling,  she  sunk  into,  a 
chair. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  sudden  appearance  of  the  woman,  her  singular 
conduct,  and  mysterious  departure,  were  new  facts  in 
the  strange  series  of  events,  that  were  almost  bewilder 
ing  the  minds  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Harding.  Something  in 
this  woman's  manner  had  strongly  impressed  them  both, 
and  now,  when  they  thought  of  her,  it  was  with  a  cer 
tain  sense  of  constraint,  as  if  she  were  present,  and 
closely  observing  their  actions.  That  she  bore  some 
kind  of  relationship  to  the  babe  was  no  longer  a  question 
in  their  thoughts;  and  it  was  equally  clear,  that  her 
visit  was  by  no  means  accidental  or  purposeless. 

A  pressure  upon  the  feelings  was  a  natural  conse 
quence;  not  so  much  a  troubled  pressure,  as  a  certain 
thoughtful  sobriety,  favourable  to  self-control,  and  pro 
ductive  of  wiser  counsels  in  the  minds  of  both  the  car 
penter  and  his  quick-tempered  wife.  Each  had  need  of 
a  preparation  like  this,  for  the  day  was  to  prove  one  of 
more  than  ordinary  trial. 

From  some  cause,  Andrew,  their  oldest  boy,  naturally 
of  an  exceedingly  perverse  temper,  was  ill-natured  and 


THE   ANGEL   OF   THE   HOUSEHOLD. 


quarrelsome  beyond  his  wont,  on  this  particular  morn 
ing.  Since  rising,  he  had  not  ceased  to  interfere  with 
Lucy  and  Philip,  and  this  created  a  strife  among 
the  three,  which  the  mother  vainly  sought  to  subdue. 
Not  until  the  father,  with  a  stern  threat  and  a  smart 
blow,  commanded  the  overbearing  lad  to  cease  from  his 
annoyance  of  his  brother  and  sister,  was  the  discord 
abated.  And  then  the  evil  in  the  boy's  heart  remained 
strong  as  ever.  Only  the  fear  of  instant  punishment 
kept  down  the  spirit  of  rebellion. 

Soon  after  his  father  left  for  the  shop,  his  mother  said 
to  him — 

"  Andrew,  go  over  to  the  store,  and  get  me  two  pounds 
of  sugar  and  two  pounds  of  rice ;  and  go  quickly,  for  it's 
nearly  school-time  now." 

"  Where's  the  money  ?"     Andrew  spoke  very  rudely. 

"  Never  mind  the  money/'  said  Mrs.  Harding.  "  Go 
and  do  as  I  tell  you." 

"  'Taint  no  use.  Mr.  Willits  said  yesterday  that  you 
needn't  send  for  trust  any  more." 

"  Go,  this  minute,  you  little" 

The  angry  mother  caught  the  profane  epithet  just 
leaping  from  her  tongue,  and  kept  it  back  from  utter 
ance. 

" 'Taint  no  use,  I  tell  you,"  persisted  Andrew.'  "He 
said" 

"  Off  with  you,  this  instant !" 

And  Mrs.  Harding,  unable  to  restrain  her  indignation, 
made  two  or  three  rapid  strides  toward  the  boy,  who, 
seeing  from  her  face  that  he  was  in  danger,  darted 
from  the  house,  and  went  away  toward  the  store.  After 
being  gone  long  enough  to  have  done  the  errand  twice, 
he  came  loitering  back,  without  the  articles  for  which  he 
had  been  sent. 

"Where's  the  sugar  and  rice?"  asked  his  mother, 
looking  at  him  sternly,  as  he  came  in. 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD.        69 

<(  I  told  you  so,"  was  his  irritating  reply. 

"  Told  me  what  ?'.'  said  Mrs.  Harding. 

"Why,  that  you  needn't  send  there  for  trust  any 
more." 

"  Have  you  been  to  Mr.  Willits'  ?"  asked  his  mother, 
growing  suddenly  calm,  and  speaking  very  firmly. 

"  Yes,  ma'am,  I  have,"  was  the  unhesitating  answer. 

"  And  you  saw  Mr.  Willits  ?" 

"  Yes,  ma'am." 

"  And  asked  him  for  the  sugar  and  rice  ?" 

"  Yes,  ma'am." 

"  What  did  he  say  ?" 

"  He  wanted  to  know  where  my  money  was ;  and 
when  I  said  I  had  none,  he  told  me  to  go  home  and  tell 
you  that  he  didn't  charge  things  any  more." 

All  this  was  spoken  by  Andrew  with  a  steady  voice 
and  eye,  and  in  a  manner  that  but  ill  concealed  a  spirit 
of  triumph. 

For  a  little  while,  a  tempest  of  indignant  anger  raged 
in  the  breast  of  Mrs.  Harding. 

"  He'll  be  sorry  for  that,  or  I  am  not  a  living 
woman !"  she  muttered  to  herself,  as  soon  as  a  little 
self-possession  was  obtained,  and  thought  ran  partially 
clear  once  more.  "  Here's  the  money,"  she  added, 
aloud,  speaking  to  Andrew,  as  she  drew  from  her  pocket 
some  change ;  "go  back,  as  swift  as  your  legs  will  carry 
you,  and  get  two  pounds  of  rice  and  two  pounds  of 
sugar." 

The  boy  took  the  money,  and  went  loitering  indif 
ferently  away  j  but,  ere  he  had  gone  ten  paces,  a  switch 
was  laid  smartly  over  his  shoulders  by  his  mother,  who 
could  no  longer  control  her  anger  against  him.  The 
effect  was  all  she  wished  to  produce.  He  sprung  from 
her  like  a  frightened  young  deer,  and  ran  the  whole  dis 
tance  to  the  store.  In  returning,  he  resumed  the  old 


70        THE  ANGEL  OP  THE  HOUSEHOLD. 


pace,  and  managed  to  get  back  at  least  half  an  hour 
after  school-time. 

"  It's  so  late,  mother,  can't  I  stay  at  home  to-day  ?" 
This  was  his  response  to  a  hurried  order  to  start  off  im 
mediately  for  school.  "  Mr.  Long  will  keep  me  in." 

"  I  don't  care  if  he  does.  It  will  serve  you  right. 
No ;  you  can't  stay  home." 

The  lad  threw  himself  down  on  the  door-step,  and 
began  to  cry. 

Poor  Mrs.  Harding !  Notwithstanding  the  influence 
of  recent  events,  the  causes  of  irritation  were  too  many 
and  too  strong  for  her.  Almost  since  daylight  had  this 
perverse  boy  been  making  assaults  upon  her  patience. 
Several  times  she  had  lost  the  self-control  she  was 
struggling  to  maintain,  and  given  way  to  bursts  of 
passion,  and  as  often  had  she  striven  to  force  back  into 
quietude  the  disturbed  impulses  that  darkened  her 
spirit.  Now,  her  pent-up  anger  blazed  forth  like  a 
fierce  flame.  Seizing  a  stout  switch,  she  sprung  toward 
Andrew,  and  commenced  lashing  him  with  all  her 
strength.  Her  countenance  was  that  of  a  fury.  For  a 
short  time,  Andrew,  who  had  great  powers  of  endurance, 
bore  the  smarting  strokes,  thinking  to  tire  his  mother 
out;  but  in  this  he  was  mistaken.  She  was  possessed 
of  cruel  spirits;  and,  in  the  blind  passion  with  which 
they  inspired  her,  would  have  struck  on,  even  to  the 
endangering  of  his  life.  At  last,  with  a  yell  of  pain, 
that  sounded  more  like  the  cry  of  some  animal  than  a 
human  being,  Andrew  started  up  from  the  door-step,  and 
ran  off  beyond  the  reach  of  his  mother's  arm. 

"Now,  away  to  school  with  you,  or  I'll  give  you  as 
much  more  !"  cried  Mrs.  Harding,  as  she  advanced  reso 
lutely  toward  the  place  where  Andrew  paused  on  getting 
out  of  her  way. 

Finding  that  contention  with  his  mother,  under  pre 
sent  circumstances,  was  rather  too  serious  a  business, 


THE  ANGEL  OP  THE  HOUSEHOLD.        71 

Andrew  yielded  to  forces  he  was  not  able  to  resist,  and 
started  off  to  school,  conquered,  but  not  subdued  in 
spirit.  The  fire  of  his  mother's  anger  had  hardened  in 
stead  of  softening  him.  Rebellion  grew  rank  in  his 
young  breast,  as  he  moved  on  his  way ;  and  no  sooner 
was  he  out  of  sight,  than  he  sat  down  on  the  roadside  to 
deliberate  on  tlje  question  of  going  to  school  or  playing 
the  truant. 

It  was  some  time  after  Mrs.  Harding  returned  into  the 
house,  before  she  was  sufficiently  calm  to  reflect  at  all. 
The  storm,  though  brief,  had  raged  fiercely,  and  sad 
were  the  wrecks  it  left  behind — wrecks  of  peace  and  good 
resolutions.  Never  in  her  life  had  she  suffered  such  in 
tense  mental  pain  as  now — never  experienced  a  state  of 
mind  so  sad  and  self-condemnatory.  New  and  better 
states  had  been  forming,  and  they  had  brought  her 
within  the  sphere  of  higher  and  holier  influences.  It 
was  violence  to  these  that  occasioned  such  anguish  of 
spirit.  Good,  having  gained  a  place  in  her  heart,  might 
be  overshadowed,  but  not  cast  out.  When  the  storm 
raged,  it  could  retire  and  hide  itself  far  down  in  the 
calmer  depths  of  her  spirit,  to  come  into  perception 
again  when  the  tempest  abated.  And  thus  it  was  now. 
The  good  was  hidden,  not  extinguished,  and  its  low 
voice  was  heard  as  soon  as  the  wild  shrieking  of  the 
storm  was  silent.  It  was  not  strong  enough  to  contend 
with  evil  when  evil  had  full  sway;  but,  like  the  sun 
shine  and  the  gentle  dews,  it  possessed  a  restoring  and 
creating  power;  and,  like  them,  in  the  peaceful  days 
and  quiet  nights,  it  went  on  with  its  heavenly  work  of 
rest  )ration  and  recreation. 

What  a  deep  calm  reigned  in  the  household,  as  Mrs. 
Harding  came  back  among  her  younger  children,  who 
received  her  with  frightened  looks,  and  went  shrinking 
away  into  distant  corners — a  calmness  which,  by  its  con 
trast,  only  made  more  apparent  the  wild,  half-insane  ex- 


THE  ANGEL   OF  THE   HOUSEHOLD. 


citement  from  which  every  nerve  of  her  spirit  was  still 
palpitating.  The  revulsion  in  Mrs.  Harding' s  mind  was 
great.  The  first  rebuking  image  that  arose  in  her 
thoughts  was  that  of  the  stranger,  whose  coming  and  de 
parture  were  almost  like  the  changes  in  a  dream.  So 
vivid  was  this  impression,  that  she  almost  expected  to 
see  the  woman  enter,  and  fix  upon  her  those  deep,  sad 
eyes,  whose  expression  she  could  never  forget. 

An  unwonted  sound  came  now  upon  her  ears.  It 
arose  from  the  cradle.  The  eyes  of  Mrs.  Harding 
sought  instantly  the  child.  Sweet  one !  There  was  a 
look  of  fear  on  her  baby  face — grievingly  her  lip  was 
curled — a  low  murmur  of  pain  was  audible. 

Tenderly,  very  tenderly,  was  the  infant  lifted  from  its 
cradle-bed ;  and  lovingly  was  it  pressed  to  the  bosom  of 
Mrs.  Harding.  Soothing  words  in  soothing  tones  were 
poured  into  its  ears  from  lips  that  touched  them  softly. 

As  Mrs.  Harding  sat  with  the  babe  held  close  against 
her  heart,  all  the  exciting  incidents  of  the  previous  half 
hour  passed  before  her  mind  in  rapid  review.  The  con 
duct  of  Andrew  had  been  very  bad,  and  he  needed  cor 
rection  ;  but  she  could  not  justify  her  own  action  in  the 
case,  nor  quiet  the  voice  of  self-reproach.  She  saw  that 
the  evil  in  her  only  excited  the  evil  in  him — that  angry 
words  hardened  him  into  stubborn  resistance.  She  felt 
sad,  too,  as  she  thought  of  the  cruel  stripes  she  had 
given  him — stripes  laid  on  with  the  full  strength  of  her 
strong  arm.  In  angry  resentment,  not  sorrowing  love, 
had  she  grasped  the  rod,  and  its  strokes. excited  only  a 
spirit  of  rebellion.  Oh !  how  unhappy  she  felt — un 
happy  even  to  weeping.  Her  indignation  against  the 
storekeeper  was  but  a  feeble  flame  now.  She  felt  too 
deeply  humiliated  in  consequence  of  her  own  misdeeds 
to  cherish  anger  against  others. 

In  this  state  of  mind  the  morning  passed.  At  twelve 
o'clock,  Andrew  came  in  from  school,  gliding  through 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD.        73 

the  door  silently,  and  with  an  evident  desire  to  avoid 
notice.  Mrs.  Harding  said  nothing.  She  was  glad  to 
Bee  him  subdued  in  spirit,  and  felt  more  of  pity  toward 
the  boy  than  anger.  Her  husband  soon  followedj  as  it 
was  dinner-time.  His  brow  was  clouded.  Something 
had  gone  wrong  with  him  during  the  forenoon.  Silently 
and  moodily  he  sat  at  the  table,  eating  hurriedly,  and 
taking  no  notice  of  any  one.  In  a  shorter  time  than 
usual,  he  finished  the  meal,  and,  rising,  was  about 
leaving  the  house,  when  Mrs.  Harding  said — 

"  Didn't  you  tell  me  to  send  to  the  store  for  any  thing 
I  might  want  ?" 

"  Certainly  I  did.     Why  ?" 

"  Because  Willits  refused  to  let  me  have  some  sugar 
and  rice,  this  morning,  without  the  money." 

"  Oh  no !  He  couldn't  have  done  that.  There  are 
thirty-six  dollars  to  my  account  on  his  books,  as  I  told 
you." 

"  Well,  he  did,  then ;  and  I  had  to  send  the  money 
before  I  could  get  what  I  wanted." 

Harding  waited  to  hear  no  more.  "I'll  soon  settle 
that !"  he  exclaimed,  as  he  went  hurriedly  from  the 
house.  A  rapid  walk  of  a  few  minutes  brought  him  to 
the  store  of  Willits,  into  which  he  strode  with  a  heavy, 
resolute  tread. 

"  What  do  you  mean,"  was  his  angry  interrogation, 
"  by  sending  such  messages  to  my  wife  ?"  And,  as  he 
spoke,  he  confronted  the  storekeeper  with  a  threatening 
scowl. 

The  latter  was  startled,  as  well  he  might  be,  for  Hard 
ing  was  in  a  fierce  mood  of  mind,  and  stood  before  him 
with  his  hand  clenched,  and  meditated  violence  in  his 
look  and  manner. 

"  Say  !     What  do  you  mean  ?"  repeated  Harding. 

"  I  sent  no  insulting  message  to  your  wife,"  said  the 
storekeeper. 


74        THE  ANGEL  OP  THE  HOUSEHOLD. 


"It's  false !     "£ou  did  I"  exclaimed  Harding. 

"  And  I  say  that  I  did  not/'  retorted  Willits,  whose 
reddening  face  showed  his  rising  anger. 

"  Why  didn't  you  send  her  the  sugar  and  rice  this 
morning  ?"  said  Harding. 

"  I  did  send  it,"  replied  the  storekeeper. 

"  Not  until  she  furnished  the  money." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  neighbour  Harding.  Andrew 
came  for  two  pounds  of  sugar  and  two  pounds  of  rice, 
which  I  have  charged  in  your  account." 

"  Didn't  you  refuse  to  let  him  have  them  without  the 
money  ?" 

"No,  sir,  I  did  not.  Haven't  you  a  balance  on  my 
books  in  your  favour  ?  Here  are  the  articles  charged." 

And  Willits  opened  his  day-book  and  pointed  to  the 
recent  entry. 

"I  don't  understand  this,"  said  Harding,  looking 
bewildered. 

"  There's  some  mistake.  Who  told  you  that  I  refused 
to  send  these  articles  without  the  money  ?" 

"  I  must  see  further  into  this.     Can't  comprehend  it." 

And  as  the  carpenter  said  this,  he  turned  away 
abruptly,  and  went  back  home. 

"  Mary,"  said  he,  "  didn't  you  tell  me  that  Willits 
refused  to  let  you  have  the  rice  and  sugar  to-day  without 
the  money  ?" 

"Yes,  I  did;  and  I  had  to  send  the  money  before  I 
could  get  them." 

"He  denies  it,  and  has  the  sugar  and  rice  both 
charged  to  me." 

"What!" 

"He  says  that  he  didn't  refuse  to  let  you  have  the 
articles  without  the  money." 

"Andrew!" 

Mrs.  Harding  called  to  her  oldest  boy,  in  a  quick, 


THE  ANGEL  OF  TIIE   HOUSEHOLD.  75 


peremptory  voice,  turning  around  as  she  spoke;  but 
tiiere  was  no  answer. 

"  Andrew  I"  she  called  again. 

"  He's  gone  to  school,  mother,"  said  Lucy. 

'•  It  isn't  school-time  yet." 

"  But  he's  gone.  I  saw  him  put  on  his  hat,  and  go 
out  through  the  back  gate  a  little  while  after  father  went 
away." 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Harding  looked  at  each  other  for  a  few 
moments  in  a  kind  of  blank  amazement.  To  both  came 
a  dim  foreshadowing  of  the  truth. 

"  Did  Andrew  bring  you  that  message  ?"  said  Hard 
ing,  in  a  stern  voice. 

"  He  did ;  and  then  I  gave  him  the  money  to  get  the 
things  I  wanted." 

"  And  he  went  back  with  it  to  the  store  ?" 

"Yes." 

«  That  will  do." 

How  the  heavy  brow  of  the  carpenter  contracted ! 
There  was  something  savage  in  his  face. 

"He'll  remember  this  while  he  has  breath  in  his 
body,"  he  said  fiercely,  as  he  left  the  house.  % 

On  his  way  to  his  shop,  he  called  in  again  at  the  store 
of  Willits,  and,  by  a  few  questions,  satisfied  all  lingering 
doubts  as  to  the  guilt  of  Andrew. 

As  soon  as  two  o'clock  came,  he  went  to  the  school- 
house  and  asked  for  his  son. 

"  He  hasn't  been  here  to-day,"  was  the  teacher's  reply 
to  his  question. 

"  Are  you  certain  of  that,  Mr.  Long  ?" 

Harding  was  not  prepared  for  this. 

"  Altogether  certain,"  answered  the  schoolmaster. 
"  Was  Andrew  here  this  morning  ?"  He  now  addressed 
the  scholars. 

"  No,  sir" — "  no,  sir" — "  no,  sir" — ran  all  around  the 
room. 


76        THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD. 


"Have  any  of  the  boys  seen  him?"  inquired  Mr. 
Long. 

"I  saw  him,"  spoke  up  one  of  the  scholars,  "as  I 
came  to  school  just  now." 

"Where?" 

"  Sitting  on  the  fence  over  by  Miller's  woods." 

"Did  you  speak  to  him  ?"  inquired  the  schoolmaster. 

"  Yes,  sir.  I  asked  him  what  he  was  doing ;  and  he 
said,  '  Nothing/  Then  I  asked  him  if  he  wasn't  going 
to  school ;  and  he  said,  l  Maybe  so — after  a  while.'  As 
I  walked  along,  I  saw  him  going  over  into  Miller's 
woods." 

"  That  will  do,"  said  the  schoolmaster.  And  then  he 
directed  two  of  the  older  boys  to  go  over  to  Miller's 
woods,  and  if  they  saw  Andrew,  to  bring  him  to  school. 

Harding  went  back  to  his  shop  in  a  state  of  profound 
agitation.  A  new  cause  of  anger  against  the  boy  was 
added — namely,  the  disgrace  to  himself  of  standing  be 
fore  the  assembled  village  children  as  the  father  of  a  boy 
who  had  meanly  pla}red  the  truant. 

During  the  afternoon,  every  thing  seemed  to  go  wrong 
with  the  oftrpenter.  A  man  for  whom  he  had  done  some 
work  disappointed  him  in  regard  to  the  payment ;  while 
another,  for  whom  work  had  been  promised  at  a  certain 
time,  rated  him  soundly  for  not  being  up  to  the  letter  of 
his  contract.  Moreover,  Stark  the  tavern-keeper  called 
in  and  abused  him  for  having  said,  as  reported  to  him, 
that  he  was  doing  more  harm  to  the  neighbourhood  than 
a  gang  of  thieves.  Maddened  by  this  assault,  coming, 
as  it  did,  upon  his  unbalanced  state  of  mind,  Harding 
threw  a  mallet  at  his  head,  which,  happily,  glancing  by, 
went  smashing  through  a  window.  The  frightened 
tavern-keeper  beat  a  hasty  retreat. 

Toward  evening,  the  teacher  called  in  to  say,  that  the 
boys  sent  for  Andrew  had  found  him,  and  that  he  re 
fused  to  return  with  them  to  school.  This  was  the  last 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD.        77 

crushing  pound  laid  on  the  carpenter's  panting  self- 
control.  The  savage  imprecation  that  fell  from  his  lips, 
startled  the  teacher,  who  turned  off  from  him  instantly, 
and  went  on  his  way,  oppressed  by  a  feeling  of  troubled 
concern. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

WHEN  Jacob  Harding  came  home  from  his  shop  a 
little  after  sundown,  he  was  blind  with  passion.  The 
more  he  had  thought  of  Andrew's  conduct,  the  stronger 
had  grown  his  indignation  against  him ;  and  he  was  now 
prepared  to  mete  out  to  him  a  degree  of  punishment 
cruel  in  the  extreme.  Grief  for  the  evil  he  had  done 
was  not  so  prominent  a  feeling  with  Harding,  as  anger  at 
the  boy  for  having  dared  to  venture  upon  the  commission 
of  such  flagrant  outrages.  "  Liar  !  thief !  truant !"  Such 
were  the  bitter  words  that  came,  every  few  moments, 
through  the  excited  father's  shut  teeth,  as  he  strode 
homeward.  "  That  a  boy  of  mine  should  be  guilty  of 
such  things  \"  he  repeated  over  and  over  again.  "  A  boy 
of  mine  to  disgrace  me  in  this  way  I" 

And  he  would  stretch  forth  his  arms,  with  his  large 
hands  gripped  so  tightly,  that  the  nails  almost  pene 
trated  the  callous  skin,  clutching,  in  imagination,  the 
guilty  chilji. 

"  Where's  Andrew  ?"  he  asked,  almost  fiercely,  as  ho 
entered  the  house. 

Mrs.  Harding  lifted  to  his  her  troubled  face,  and 
answered,  in  a  sad  voice — there  was  no  trace  of  anger 
about  her — 

7* 


78        THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD 


"  I  haven't  seen  him  since  dinner-time." 

"Not  home  yet ?" 

"No." 

Harding  passed  through  the  house  into  the  yard, 
where  he  cut  from  a  tree  a  stout,  tough  rod — far  too 
stout  and  strong  for  his  vigorous  arm  to  wield  in  the 
chastisement  of  a  tender  child — and  returning  with  it, 
laid  it  in  full  sight  of  the  younger  children,  on  a  table. 

(t  A  liar,  a  thief,  and  a  truant !"  he  exclaimed,  in  a 
voice  of  angry  excitement.  "  It  will  be  the  sorriest  day 
of  his  life  !  I  just  want  to  get  my  hands  on  him  !" 

Mrs.  Harding  answered  nothing.  She  too  had  felfe 
strong  anger  toward  the  boy ;  but  as  the  day  wore  on, 
and  imagination  pictured  him  writhing  in  the  cruel 
hands  of  his  passionate  father,  anger  changed  to  yearning 
pity.  Not  that  she  felt  like  excusing  him,  or  even  pal 
liating  his  crime  and  disobedience;  but  in  her  heart 
revived  the  mother's  tenderness,  and  this  made  her  per 
ceive,  clearly,  that  in  a  blind  indignation  against  the 
boy,  his  father  would  destroy  the  salutary  effects  of 
punishment,  through  an  excessive  administration. 

Slowly  crept  on  the  dusky  twilight,  and  thicker  and 
thicker  fell  the  evening  shadows,  closing  in  nearer  and 
nearer  to  the  carpenter's  dwelling,  so  that  the  disturbed 
inmates,  constantly  on  the  watch  for  Andrew,  found 
their  circle  of  vision  growing  momently  narrower. 

And  now,  sharp  flashes  of  lightning  began  to  stream 
forth  from  a  heavy  bank  of  cloud  that  lay  piled  up  in  the 
west,  and  the  freshening  winds  rustled  the  leaves  in  the 
old  elms  that  stood  around  the  humble  cottage. 

"  There's  a  gust  rising !"  said  Mrs.  Harding,  in  a 
troubled  voice,  going  to  the  door  and  gazing  anxiously 
around.  l<  Where  is  that  unhappy  boy  ?j; 

"  Skulking  in  some  of  the  neighbours'  houses,"  gruffly 
replied  the  husband.  "  But  he  might  as  well  come  home 
first  as  last  He  can't  escape  me." 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD.        79 

Mrs.  Harding  sighed,  and  was  about  retiring  from  the 
door,  when  a  heavy  peal  of  distant  thunder  jarred  on 
the  air. 

"  Oh  !  I  wish  he  was  home  I"  she  said ;  "  we're  going 
to  have  a  terrible  storm." 

The  thick  bank  of  clouds  had  now  covered  so  large  a 
space  in  the  west,  that  all  the  sun's  retiring  beams  were 
hidden,  and  darkness  was  closing  around  her  heavy 
curtains. 

"  The  storm  will  bring  him  home/'  was  all  the  reply 
made  by  the  father. 

"  I  wish,  Jacob,"  said  Mrs.  Harding,  after  waiting  for 
nearly  half  an  hour  longer,  during  which  time  the  heavy 
concussive  thunder  sounded  nearer  and  nearer,  "  that 
you  would  step  over  to  Mrs.  Aaron's,  and  see  if  Andrew 
is  not  there.  He  goes  with  John  Aaron  a  good  deal, 
and  it  may  be  that  he  is  loitering  with  him  now,  afraid 
to  come  home." 

Harding  made  no  answer,  but  took  up  his  hat  and 
went  out.  The  dwelling  of  Mrs.  Aaron  was  distant 
nearly  an  eighth  of  a  mile,  and  thither  the  carpenter 
directed  his  steps,  walking  rapidly.  It  had  become  very 
dark  before  he  reached  there — the  darkness  invaded, 
every  few  moments,  by  brilliant  streams  of  light  from 
the  cloudy  west. 

"  Have  you  seen  any  thing  of  my  Andrew?"  inquired 
Harding,  on  reaching  the  neighbour's  house. 

"  I  have  not,"  replied  Mrs.  Aaron,  as  she  stood  with 
the  door  held  partly  open. 

"Is  your  John  at  home ?"  was  next  asked. 

"My  John?  Oh  yes,  indeed!  He's  never  away 
after  dark." 

John  came  to  the  side  of  his  mother. 

"  Have  you  seen  my  Andrew  to-day  ?"  Harding 
spoke  to  the  boy. 


80        THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD. 


"No,  sir;  I  have  not.  He  wasn't  at  school  either  in 
the  morning  or  afternoon." 

"Are  you  certain  about  not  having  seen  him  to-day?" 

"  Oh  yes,  sir.  He  hasn't  been  anywhere  around 
here." 

"  Where  can  he  be  ?"  said  Mrs.  Aaron,  now  manifest 
ing  a  woman's  concern. 

"Dear  knows!"  answered  the  carpenter,  with  some 
impatience  of  manner.  "  I  only  wish  I  had  my  hands 
on  him." 

"  How  long  has  he  been  away  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Aaron. 

tf  Ever  since  dinner-time,"  was  replied. 

"  Maybe  he  is  over  at  Mr.  Lawson's,"  spoke  up  John, 
"  Neither  Henry  nor  Peter  Lawson  were  at  school  this 
afternoon.  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  they'd  all  gone  a  fish 
ing  in  Baxter's  mill-dam." 

"  I'm  obliged  to  you !"  was  almost  roughly  said  by 
Harding,  as  he  turned  off  abruptly,  and  strode  away  in 
the  direction  of  Lawson's  farm-house,  which  was  at  least 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  his  own  dwelling. 

The  darkness  was  now  so  deep,  that  he  could  see  only 
a  few  steps  before  him,  save  when  the  broad-sheeted 
lightning  threw  its  mantle  of  flame  over  the  earth  for  an 
instant,  and  then  left  the  night  blacker  than  before. 
The  flashes  came  in  quick  succession,  and  by  their  aid 
he  walked  on  as  steadily  as  if  day  had  been  abroad.  At 
Lawson's  he  gained  some  intelligence  of  his  truant  boy. 
Andrew  had  been  with  Henry  and  Peter  fishing,  as  was 
suggested  by  young  Aaron,  and  had  stayed  there  to  sup 
per.  But  it  was  more  than  half  an  hour  since  he  started 
for  home. 

"  You'll  find  him  safe  and  sound  when  you  get 
back,"  said  Mr.  Lawson;  "  so  you  needn't  give  yourself 
any  more  uneasiness  about  him.  I  didn't  notice  that  he 
was  staying  so  late,  or  I  would  have  sent  him  away 
earlier.  I  told  the  boys  to  go  with  him  a  part  of  the 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD.        81 

wa/,  but  he  said  he  wasn't  at  all  afraid,  and  went  off  by 
himself." 

It  did  not  take  Harding  long  to  retrace  his  steps 
homeward.  Not  in  the  least  was  his  anger  against  the 
child  abated,  nor  had  he  changed,  in  the  smallest  de 
gree,  his  cruel  purposes  regarding  him.  He  had  often 
punished  him  severely ;  but  the  severity  now  meditated 
was  something  far  beyond  any  prior  infliction. 

He  was  only  a  short  distance  from  his  dwelling,  when 
a  lightning  gleam,  that  made  the  air  light  as  noonday, 
showed  him  the  form  of  Andrew  crouching  down  against 
a  large  tree  that  stood  a  little  off  from  the  road.  He 
saw  it  but  for  an  instant :  for,  in  the  next  moment,  the 
blackness  of  darkness  was  around  him. 

ft  Andrew  I"  he  called,  sternly. 

Ere  his  voice  died  on  the  air,  another  flash  quivered 
along  the  ground ;  but  when  the  lad's  form  had  just 
been  seen,  no  object  was  visible.  Mr.  Harding  stood 
still,  and  awaited,  in  silence,  the  next  recurring  flash. 
It  came,  but  Andrew  was  not  in  view. 

"  Andrew  !"  he  cried  again.  "  Andrew  !  why  don't 
you  answer  me  ?" 

The  echo  of  his  own  voice  was  all  the  reply  that  came. 
He  now  advanced  to  the  tree,  felt  about  it  in  the  dark 
ness,  and  searched  all  around  with  his  eyes,  as  flash 
after  flash  lit  up  the  scene.  But  the  form  of  Andrew 
was  not  again  descried.  He  called,  threatened,  and 
called,  again  and  again.  He  searched  around  for  a  con 
siderable  distance,  but  to  no  purpose.  Concluding  that 
the  boy  had  gone  home,  he  kept  on  his  way,  and  soon 
arrived  at  his  dwelling. 

"  Is  he  here  yet  ?"  was  his  sharp  interrogation,  as  ho 
stepped  over  the  threshold. 

"Haven't  you  found  him ?"  asked  Mrs.  Harding, 
with  a  blanching  face. 

"He  was  over  at  Lawson's  until  dark,   and   thea 


82        THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD. 


started  for  home.  I'm  very  sure  I  saw  him  up  at  the 
turn  in  the  road,  sitting  by  the  foot  of  an  old  beech-tree. 
A  flash  of  lightning  made  it  as  clear  as  day ;  but,  when 
the  next  flash  came,  he  was  not  there.  I  called,  and 
called,  but  he  wouldn't  answer  me.  He'll  come  creeping 
in  here  before  long.  The  rain  will  soon  be  pouring  in 
torrents,  and  he'll  never  stand  that." 

"  0  Jacob  I"  said  the  mother,  in  a  tone  of  distress, 
"I'm  afraid  something  has  happened  to  him/' 

"  Never  fear.  He's  too  bad  for  any  thing  to  happen 
to  him,"  was  the  harsh  response. 

"  Don't  talk  so,  Jacob.  It's  a  fearful  night.  There  ! 
Oh,  what  a  sharp  flash !  Go  out  and  call  to  him. 
Maybe  he  is  close  by,  and  afraid  to  come  in.  Tell  him 
not  to  be  afraid — that  you  won't  punish  him.  Do, 
Jacob !" 

"  I  will  punish  him,  though !  and  I'll  not  lie  about 
it,"  firmly  answered  Harding.  "  The  moment  I  get  my 
hands  on  him,  I'll  flog  him  within  an  inch  of  his  life, 
the  desperate  little  vagabond  !  A  pretty  race  he  has  run 
me,  after  all  his  ill-doing — as  if  that  wasn't  enough." 

"  What  a  crash  I"  exclaimed  poor  Mrs.  Harding,  her 
face  blanching  still  whiter.  "  Hark !  is  that  wind  or 
rain  ?" 

"  Both,"  replied  her  husband,  coolly.  "  He'll  not  be 
away  long  now." 

But  the  unyielding  father  erred  in  his  prediction. 
The  storm  came  down  with  fearful  violence,  howling 
among  the  tall  elms,  crashing  its  thunder  through  the 
air,  and  pouring  out  a  deluge  of  rain ;  yet  the  boy  ven 
tured  not  to  the  door  of  his  father's  house,  where  a  more 
dreaded  evil  awaited  him.  He  could  bear  the  elemental 
wrath,  wild  and  fierce  though  it  was,  as  something  less 
to  be  feared  than  the  cruel  anger  of  his  justly  incensed 
father. 

Nine,  ten,  eleven  o'clock  came ;  still  the  fearful  tern- 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD.        83 

pest  roared  without — still  the  harsh  thunder  boomed 
along  the  sky,  or  came  sharply  rattling  down,  and  still 
nothing  was  seen  or  heard  of  Andrew.  Almost  sick 
with  anxiety  and  alarm,  Mrs.  Harding,  who  had  moved 
about  the  rooms  incessantly — now  listening  at  the  door 
or  window,  now  gazing  into  the  darkness,  and  now  call 
ing  the  name  of  the  boy — at  length  sunk  down  into  a 
kind  of  hopeless  state.  That  something  terrible  had 
happened  to  Andrew,  she  felt  certain ;  for  she  was  ^  sure 
he  would  not  remain  out  in  storm  and  darkness,  if  he 
could  make  his  way  home.  If  softened  at  all  toward 
his  erring  son,  Harding  did  not  manifest  the  change. 
He  had  walked  the  floor  restlessly  for  a  greater  part 
of  the  evening,  every  now  and  then  opening  the  door  to 
look  out,  and  calling  sternly  the  name  of  Andrew,  who 
was,  he  persisted  in  affirming,  skulking  somewhere  near 
at  hand.  It  was  all  in  vain  that  the  lad's  mother  strove 
to  turn  aside  the  harsh  anger  of  his  father. 

"Ill  not  let  him  go  to  swift  destruction,  Mary,"  he 
would  answer,  with  knitted  brows.  "I'll  not  be  a 
foolish  father,  and  spare  the  rod.  Come  when  he  will, 
he  has  got  to  feel  the  weight  of  this  arm.  It  is  all  well 
enough  for  you  to  pity  him ;  but  I  have  a  stern  duty  to 
perform,  and  mean  to  execute  it  fully." 

"Try  and  not  feel  so  angry  against  him,  Jacob," 
pleaded  the  mother,  laying  her  hand  on  his  arm.  "  We 
know  not  where  he  is,  nor  how  dreadfully  he  may  be 
suffering.  What  if  he  should  be  dead !  The  lightning 
has  struck  very  near,  several  times." 

"  I  would  rather  see  him  dead  now,  than  swinging  on 
the  gallows  twenty  years  hence,"  said  Harding,  as  he 
drew  himself  away  from  his  tearful  wife.  "If  he  is 
dead,  he  will  be  safe  from  the  evil  to  come ;  but  if  alive, 
it  shall  be  my  business  to  check  the  course  of  evil." 

It  was  between  eleven  and  twelve  o'clock,  when  Mrs. 
Harding  went  from  the  family  sitting-room  into  the 


84        THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD. 

adjoining  chamber,  leaving  her  husband  pacing  the  floor, 
and  nursing  his  anger  against  the  absent  boy.  The 
height  of  the  storm  had  passed.  At  more  distant  inter 
vals,  the  feebler  flashes  came,  and  the  far-off  thunder 
had  a  muffled  roll.  The  winds  were  fast  dying  away, 
and  no  longer  swept  through  the  air,  in  howling  gust,  or 
bore  the  fast  descending  rain  in  fitful  torrents  against 
the  windows.  Every  moment  the  rushing  sound  without 
grew  less ;  and  by  the  time  Mrs.  Harding  returned  from 
the  chamber — scarce  three  minutes  had  elapsed  since  she 
left  her  husband — a  deep  stillness  had  succeeded  the 
tempest's  wail.  She  came  in  with  so  changed  a  counte 
nance,  that  her  husband  could  not  help  exclaiming — 
"  Why,  Mary  !  what  is  it  V 

11  Jacob !"  There  was  a  depth  of  emotion  in  the 
voice  of  Mrs.  Harding,  as  she  grasped  with  both  hands 
her  husband's  arm,  and  lifted  to  his  face  her  moistened 
eyes,  that  surprised  and  subdued  him.  "  Jacob,"  she 
repeated,  gently  drawing  him  toward  the  chamber-door, 
"  I  want  to  show  you  something." 
Harding  followed,  passively. 

"  Look  there,  Jacob  V  And  she  pointed  to  the  low 
bed  on  which  Grace  was  laid  every  night  beside  Lotty, 
and  where  she  usually  slept  soundly  until  Mrs.  Harding 
retired. 

Harding  started  at  what  he  saw,  with  a  quick  ejacula 
tion;  but  his  wife  clung  to  his  arm,  saying,  in  a  half 
whisper — 

"  Hush,  Jacob  ! — don't  wake  them  now — don't !" 
The  pause  was  fatal  to  his  stern  purpose.  The  face 
of  Andrew  was  before  him,  pale  and  shrunken  with 
suffering;  and  close  beside,  almost  touching  it,  on  the 
same  pillow,  was  the  calm,  sweet,  heavenly  face  of  the 
babe.  The  boy  had  crept  in  through  the  window,  in 
the  height  of  the  storm,  and,  after  putting  off  his  wet 
clothes,  laid  himself  down  beside  little  Grace,  evidently 


THE  ANGEL  OP  THE  HOUSEHOLD.        85 

with  the  hope  that  her  dove-like  innocence  would  soften 
the  fierce  indignation  of  his  father  against  him,  and 
there  had  fallen  asleep.  His  hair  was  wet;  and  tear- 
stains  marked  his  cheeks. 

"Poor  boy  I"  almost  sobbed  Mrs.  Harding.  She  was 
overcome  with  tenderness.  As  she  breathed  the  words, 
a  deep  sigh  parted  the  lips  of  the  sleeping  child,  and,  at 
the  same  moment,  Grace,  moving  in  her  sleep,  drew  her 
little  arm  across  his  neck,  and  laid  her  warm,  bright 
cheek  to  his. 

It  would  have  required  a  harder,  sterner  heart  than 
Jacob  Harding' s — hard  and  stern  as  that  was — to  with 
stand  the  softening  influence  of  a  scene  like  this,  coming 
as  it  did  after  long  hours  of  intense  excitement,  and  in 
the  solemn  hush  succeeding  a  fearful  tempest.  A  little 
while  he  stood  as  if  spell-bound,  and  then  turning  sud 
denly  away,  left  the  chamber.  When  his  wife  followed 
him  into  the  next  room,  she  found  him  sitting  in  a 
chair,  with  his  head  bowed  upon  his  bosom.  She  came 
up  to  where  he  sat,  and  leaning  against  him,  laid  her 
hand  upon  his  shoulder. 

"  Jacob,"  she  said,  softly.  It  was  the  old,  old  voice 
that  now  entered  his  ears — the  voice  that  had  sounded 
sweetest  of  all  in  the  days  when  young  love  filled  his 
mind  with  dreams  of  an  Elysian  future.  He  neither 
moved  nor  spoke  \  but  his  heart  was  melting. 

"Jacob  —  husband — dear  husband  !"  How  many 
years  had  passed — desolate,  dreary  years  to  both  their 
suffering  spirits — since  Mrs.  Harding  had  spoken  to  her 
husband  so  tenderly,  and  in  words  like  these  ! 

"  Say  on,  Mary  !"  And  as  the  words  passed  his  lips, 
he  leaned  toward  her.  How  naturally  glided  her  arm 
from  his  shoulder  to  his  neck,  as  her  heart  leaped  with  a 
delicious  impulse !  The  old,  old  voice,  once  so  full  of 
music,  was  ringing  in  her  ears  again.  It  was  the  voice 


86        THE  ANGEL  OP  THE  HOUSEHOLD. 

of  her  young  lover — that  in  which  he  had  wooed  and 
won  her  in  the  days  of  innocent,  confiding  girlhood. 

"  Say  on,  Mary,"  he  repeated.  How  gently,  almost 
humbly,  he  spoke  !  There  was  not  a  trace  of  bitterness 
or  passion  in  his  tones. 

"  Think  of  what  the  poor  boy  has  suffered  to-night, 
Jacob.  A  tender  child,  only  eight  years  old,  exposed  to 
such  a  fearful  storm  !  Think  of  him  as  suffering  and 
repentant,  Jacob — not  as  stubbornly  bent  on  continuing 
in  wrong.  He  looks  so  pale  and  frightened,  even  in  his 
sleep,  that  the  sight  of  him  makes  my  heart  ache." 

"  And  think,  too,  Mary,"  answered  Harding,  "  of  his 
great  offence.  Will  it  be  right  to  let  him  go  un 
punished  ?" 

"  Why  should  he  be  punished  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Harding. 

"For  his  own  good.  He  must  be  taught  that  evil 
deeds  bring  inevitable  pain." 

"And  have  they  not  brought  pain  to-night?"  said 
Mrs.  Harding.  "  Think,  Jacob,  whether,  for  any  wrong, 
you  would  have  doomed  him  to  the  anguish  and  fear  he 
must  have  suffered  to-night?  I  am  sure  you  would 
not." 

"  0  Mary !  I  dare  not  let  him  escape  my  severe  dis 
pleasure,"  replied  Harding,  his  voice  taking  a  troubled 
tone.  "  For  him  to  go  on  in  this  way,  is  certain  ruin." 

"  It  is  for  us  to  save  him  from  evil,  if  in  our  power, 
Jacob.  But  how  shall  we  save  him.  Severity,  I  fear, 
will  not  do  it.  He  has  been  scolded,  and  driven,  and 
whipped,  until  I  sometimes  think  he  is  hardened.  A 
number  of  times  I  have  noticed  of  late,  that  when  I 
speak  mildly  to  him,  he  obeys  more  readily  than  when  I 
am  out  of  patience.  If  I  order  him  to  do  any  thing  in 
an  angry  or  imperative  voice,  he  moves  off  sulkily,  and, 
unless  I  follow  him  up,  is  certain  to  disobey  me.  But 
if  I  say,  <  Andrew,  go  and  do  so  and  so,  that's  a  good 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD.        87 


boy/  he  springs  away  and  does  the  errand  in  the 
shortest  time,  and  with  evident  pleasure." 

"I  wish  to  do  right,  Mary/'  said  Harding,  in  an 
irresolute  voice. 

"  No  one  knows  that  better  than  I  do,  Jacob/' 
answered  Mrs.  Harding.  t(  But  what  is  right  ?  Ah ! 
that  is  the  question.  How  ignorant  and  erring  we  are  ! 
We  have  tried  hard  and  harsh  means  with  our  children 
from  the  beginning,  and  they  do  not  seein  to  grow  better. 
Let  us  try  some  gentler  methods." 

"  But  what  are  we  to  do  with  Andrew  ?  Let  the  past 
go  unpunished  ?" 

"  Unpunished,  at  least  by  the  rod,  Jacob.  He  ex 
pects  that,  and  is,  in  some  degree,  prepared  for  it..  If 
we  deal  more  gently  by  him,  and  let  him  understand 
that  we  are  grieved  rather  than  angry  at  his  conduct — 
that  our  punishment,  whatever  it  may  be,  is  given  in 
love,  not  indignation — he  may  repent  far  more  deeply 
of  his  evil  deeds,  than  if  stubborn  anger  be  aroused 
through  painful  chastisement.  Hush .!" 

Mrs.  Harding  raised  herself  up  and  listened,  as  a 
voice  came  from  the  room  they  had  left  a  little  while  be 
fore.  It  was  Andrew's  voice.  "  0  father  I"  they  heard 
him  say  distinctly,  and  in  a  tone  of  fear. 

Both  arose  quickly,  and  went  into  the  chamber  where 
he  was  lying. 

"Don't  cut  me  so  hard,  father! — don't;  oh,  don't.'7 
His  tones  were  full  of  agony. 

"  I'm  so  wet  and  frightened  !"  he  murmured,  a  little 
while  afterward.  "  Won't  the  lightning  strike  me  ?  Oh 
dear  !  oh  dear  !  If  father  wouldn't  cut  me  so  hard  !" 

The  heart-full  mother  could  not  keep  the  tears  from 
raining  over  her  face;  and  even  Jacob  Harding  felt  a 
woman's  weakness  stealing  through  his  breast.  He  was 
about  moving  away  from  the  bed  where  his  children. 


88        THE  ANGEL  OP  THE  HOUSEHOLD. 

slept,  when  Andrew  started  up,  wide  awake  almost  as 
soon  as  his  eyes  were  opened. 

"  0  father  !"  he  exclaimed,  the  moment  his  bewildered 
mind  was  able  to  comprehend  his  frue  position — "  don't 
whip  me — please  don't !  I've  been  very  bad ;  but  if 
you  don't  whip  me,  I'll  try  and  not  be  bad  any  more." 

And  he  stretched  forth  his  hands  imploringly,  while 
his  colourless  face  had  such  a  look  of  fear  and  sorrow, 
that  the  heart  untouched  by  its  expression  must  have 
been  of  adamant. 

"You  have  been  very  wicked,  Andrew,"  said  his 
mother,  in  a  low,  serious,  grieving  voice ;  "  and  I  do  not 
see  how  your  father  can  help  punishing  you." 

"  0  mother !  mother !"  cried  the  child,  bursting  into 
tears,  and  bending  over  toward  her — she  had  stooped 
down  by  the  bedside — "  I  know  I  have  been  wicked,  and 
I'm  so  sorry.  I  don't  know  why  I  did  it.  It  seemed  as 
if  I  couldn't  help  it.  0  mother !  how  dreadful  it  was 
out  in  the  woods,  with  the  thunder  and  lightning  all 
around  me  !  I  was  so  frightened  !  But  I  was  afraid  to 
come  in.  I  saw  the  candle  in  the  window,  and  heard 
you  and  father  call  me;  but  I  didn't  dare  to  answer. 
Once,  when  the  lightning  made  all  as  bright  as  day,  I 
thought  I  saw  Grace  just  a  little  way  before  me  on  the 
ground.  I  ran  right  up  to  the  spot,  but  she  wasn't 
there  !  Then  I  thought  I'd  get  into  the  window,  and  lie 
down  on  the  bed,  just  here,  alongside  of  her.  Maybe, 
I  said  to  myself,  father,  who  loves  little  Grace  so  much, 
won't  whip  me  for  her  sake,  if  I  promise  not  to  be  bad 
any  more." 

"And  do  you  promise,  Andrew?"  Mrs.  Harding 
spoke  very  seriously. 

"I'd  promise,  if  I  thought  father  would  believe  me," 
sobbed  the  poor  child. 

"  Promise  in  earnest  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,  mother  1" 


THE  ANGEL  OP  THE  HOUSEHOLD.        89 

"  Then  ask  him  to  forgive  you,  my  son  !" 

There  was  a  deep  silence  for  some  moments. 

"  Father  I"  Timid,  hesitating,  almost  fearful  was  the 
voice  that  broke  on  the  hushed  air  of  the  chamber. 

Harding  neither  moved  from  the  spot  where  he  stood, 
with  averted  face,  nor  answered. 

"  Father  !     0  father  !" 

The  stern  man  was  too  much  softened  to  resist  the 
pleading  anguish  of  that  broken  voice. 

"  Well,  my  son  ?"  He  did  not  mean  to  speak  so 
gently ;  but  his  heart  flowed  into  his  tones. 

"  I've  been  very  wicked,  father/'  His  utterance  was 
choked,  and  he  could  say  no  more. 

"  Speak  to  him,  Jacob,"  said  Mrs.  Harding,  bending 
toward  her  husband. 

"  Lie  down,  my  son,  and  go  to  sleep.  You  have  been 
very  wicked,  and  I  intended  to  punish  you  severely ;  but 
if  yon  will  be  a  good  boy,  as  you  promise,  I  may  forgive 
you." 

Harding  tried  to  speak  calmly,  and  even  a  little 
sternly ;  but  his  voice  was  scarcely  steady,  and  betrayed 
the  powerful  struggle  that  was  going  on  within.  As 
Andrew  fell  back,  sobbing,  on  the  pillow,  from  which,  a 
little  while  before,  he  had  started  up  in  fear,  his  father 
left  the  chamber,  deeply  agitated.  He  wished  to  be 
alone,  in  order  to  recover  his  manly  self-possession.  His 
face  was  calm  and  elevated  when  he  rejoined  his  wife. 
In  both  their  hearts,  what  a  wild  tempest  had  raged, 
symboliug  the  fierce  storm  that  darkened  the  face  of 
nature  !  But  the  azure  depths  of  their  spirits  were  clear 
again — clear  as  the  starry  heavens  that  arched  above 
their  lowly  dwelling. 

8* 


90        THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

MR.  LONG,  the  village  schoolmaster,  after  leaving  the 
carpenter,  took  his  way  homeward,  oppressed  by  a 
troubled  feeling.  He  was  a  man  of  humane  impulses, 
and  these  were  excited  by  the  cruel  threats  and  savage 
looks  of  Harding.  Andrew's  offence  was  heinous,  de 
serving  more  than  ordinary  marks  of  displeasure;  and 
he  had,  himself,  been  thinking  over  various  modes  of 
punishment,  in  order,  if  possible,  to  select  that  which 
would  be  most  efficacious,  when  the  young  truant  pre 
sented  himself  in  the  morning.  Miss  Gimp,  the  dress 
maker,  was  at  his  house  when  he  returned  home.  She 
was  doing  some  work  for  Mrs.  Long,  and  dropped  in 
with  it  a  little  before  supper-time.  Very  naturally,  she 
was  invited  to  remain  until  after  tea.  Indeed,  Miss 
Gimp  was  generally  a  welcome  guest,  for  she  was  chatty, 
and  knew  the  weak  side  of  every  woman  in  the  neigh 
bourhood.  She  was,  moreover,  in  possession  of  all  the 
current  gossip — good-natured  and  ill-natured — floating 
about,  far  and  near,  and  had  a  way  peculiar  to  herself, 
and  racy  withal,  of  telling  every  thing  she  knew,  and  a 
little  more  sometimes. 

"  You  look  sober,  Edward,"  said  the  schoolmaster's 
wife,  as  her  eyes  rested  on  her  husband's  face,  soon  after 
he  came  in.  "  Don't  you  feel  well  ?" 

"  Something  has  happened  that  troubles  me,"  replied 
Mr.  Long.  And  then  he  looked  more  serious. 

How  quickly  was  the  head  of  Miss  Gimp  elevated  ! 
What  a  sparkling  interest  was  in  her  two  bright 
eyes ! 

"  Trouble  you,  Edward  ?     What  is  it  ?" 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD.        91 

A  shade  of  anxiety  flitted  across  the-  pleasant  face  of 
Mrs.  Long. 

"  Nothing  that  particularly  concerns  myself,"  replied 
the  schoolmaster. 

"  Any  thing  wrong  in  the  school  ?" 

"  There's  something  wrong  about  one  of  the  scholars. 
Andrew  Harding  has  been  playing  truant." 

"  The  ne'er  do  well  V  exclaimed  Miss  Gimp ;  not  so 
much  in  sorrow  or  anger,  as  from  a  species  of  uncon 
scious  satisfaction  at  hearing  a  piece  of  bad  news. 

"  I'm  afraid  that  boy  will  come  to  an  evil  end/'  re 
marked  Mrs.  Long. 

"  He'll  come  to  the  gallows,  without  doubt,"  said 
Miss  Gimp.  "  I  never  saw  his  match.  Not  for  a  moun 
tain  of  gold  would  I  live  in  the  house  with  him.  I  pity 
his  poor  mother ;  but,  then,  she  has  herself  to  blame. 
I  never  saw  a  woman  have  so  little  management  with 
children.  She  lets  them  do  as  they  please,  and  make  as 
much  noise  and  disorder  as  they  like,  until  she  gets  so 
worried  she  can't  stand  it  any  longer ;  and  then  she 
screams  at  them,  and  boxes  their  ears  right  and  left,  in  a 
way  to  make  one's  blood  cold.  That's  no  way  to  bring 
up  children." 

"  Indeed,  it  is  not,"  was  the  quiet  response  of  the 
schoolmaster's  wife. 

"  Why,  d'ye  know,"  ran  on  Miss  Gimp,  "  that  on  one 
occasion  of  my  being  there  to  fit  a  dress  for  Mrs.  Hard 
ing,  Andrew — a  little  imp  of  Satan  he  is — forgive  me  for 
saying  so — Andrew  threw  a  large  case-knife  at  his  sister 
Lucy.  It  came  as  nigh  cutting  her  ear  off  as  could  be — 
just  touching  it  with  the  edge  as  it  glanced  by.  If  you 
had  seen  the  passion  of  his  mother !  It  was  awful  ! 
She  grew  almost  black  in  the  face ;  and  I  thought  she 
would  never  get  done  beating  the  boy.  It  mu.le  me 
sick  at  heart.  Oh  !  she  is  a  woman  of  an  awful  temper  ! 


92        THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD. 

I  wouldn't  have  her  tongue  on  me  for  the  world.     And 
so  Andrew  has  been  playing  the  truant,  ha !" 

How  the  voice  of  Miss  Gimp  changed,  as  she  recol 
lected  herself! 

"  I  am  grieved  to  say  that  he  has/'  answered  the 
Schoolmaster,  gravely. 

"  Does  his  father  know  it  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Long. 

"  Yes ;  and  I  am  sorry  to  say,  is  in  a  most  dreadful 
passion  about  it.  I  called  at  his  shop  as  I  came  home 
just  now,  and  the  way  he  looked  and  spoke  made  me 
really  shudder." 

"  He's  a  cruel-tempered  man,"  said  Miss  Gimp.  "  I 
know  all  about  him.  His  father  was  little  better  than  a 
savage,  and  used  to  beat  his  children  about  as  if  they 
were  dogs." 

"  I  pity  Andrew,  from  my  heart,"  said  Mr.  Long. 
"  He  has  acted  very  badly ;  but  he  is  only  a  tender 
child,  needing  correction  for  his  fault,  but  not  able  to 
bear  the  cruelty  in  store  for  him.  I  feel  unhappy 
about  it." 

"  How  would  it  do,"  suggested  Mrs.  Long,  "  for  you 
to  go  over,  after  tea,  and  try  to  soothe  his  father,  and 
thus  break  the  heavy  weight  of  his  displeasure  ?" 

"  Just  what  I  was  thinking  about,"  said  Mr.  Long. 

"  I  wouldn't  do  any  such  thing,"  spoke  up  Miss  Gimp, 
quickly.  "Take  my  advice,  and  don't  go  near  him. 
He's  a  very  strange  man.  As  sure  as  you  do,  he'll 
insult  you;  and,  what  is  worse,  beat  Andrew  twice  as 
badly,  from  a  fresh  excitement  of  angry  feelings." 

"  There  may  be  something  in  that,"  remarked  the 
schoolmaster's  wife. 

"  There  is  something  in  it,"  said  Miss  Gimp. 
"People  like  them  can't  bear  interference  from  others; 
and  always  repel  intrusion  by  broad  insult.  Let  them 
alone,  Mr.  Long,  to  do  with  their  own  as  they  please. 
More  harm  than  good  will  arise  from  any  attempt  you 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD.        93 

may  make  to  screen  the  young  rebel.  It's  all  very 
kind,  very  humane  in  you,  Mr.  Long,  and  does  great 
credit  to  your  heart  j  but  you  can't  help  them  any." 

"  There  may  be  truth  in  your  suggestion,"  answered 
fhe  schoolmaster,  in  some  doubt  and  irresolution — he 
was  flattered,  in  spite  of  himself,  by  Miss  Gimp's  com 
pliment — "  and  yet  it  does  not  seem  right  to  leave  a 
helpless  child  in  the  hands  of  a  man  insane  from  anger, 
and  not  make  an  effort  to  save  him  from  excessive 
cruelty." 

Tea  was  soon  after  on  the  table.  Mr.  Long,  still  un 
decided  in  his -mind,  sat  thoughtful  and  nearly  silent 
during  the  meal,  while  Miss  Gimp  rattled  on,  much  to 
the  edification  of  Mrs.  Long,  who,  in  her  agreeable  tittle- 
tattle,  quite  forgot  poor  Andrew  Harding.  A  sudden 
roll  of  distant  thunder  interrupted  the  voluble  play  of 
the  gossip's  tongue. 

"  What's  that !"  she  exclaimed — "  not  a  gust  coming 
up?" 

Mr.  Long  went  to  the  door,  and  threw  a  glance  around 
the  horizon. 

"  There  are  some  heavy  clouds  in  the  west,"  said  he. 

"  And  it  threatens  rain,"  added  Miss  Gimp,  who  now 
stood  by  his  side.  "  Get  me  my  bonnet,  if  you  please, 
Mrs.  Long,"  said  she,  turning  to  the  schoolmaster's  wife. 
li  It's  growing  dark  fast,  and  I  must  run  home." 

"Don't  be  in  a  hurry.  It  isn't  late.  I'm  sure  it 
won't  storm  to-night,"  said  Mrs.  Long,  affecting  a  great 
deal  of  reluctance  at  parting  with  Miss  Gimp,  who,  in 
her  turn,  had  just  enough  self-esteem  to  believe  that  the 
schoolmaster's  wife  felt  really  bad  about  her  "going 
away  so  early." 

Often,  during  the  fearful  storm  that  raged  that  night, 
did  Mr.  Long  think  of  Andrew  Harding,  and  wonder 
how  it  was  with  him.  He  could  not  forget  the  cruel 


94        THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD. 


face  and  words  of  the  boy's  father :  they  haunted  his 
imagination  and  his  thoughts. 

On  the  next  morning,  he  went  early,  as  was  his  cus 
tom,  to  the  school-house.  He  was  sitting  at  his  desk, 
engaged  in  study,  when  the  sound  of  footsteps  caused 
him  to  look  up.  It  was  too  soon  to  expect  any  of  the 
scholars,  and  he  was,  therefore,  prepared  to  see  a 
stranger.  He  almost  started,  as  he  saw  the  carpenter 
leading  his  son,  and  within  a  few  steps  of  the  door. 

"  Mr.  Long,  I  have  brought  Andrew  to  school  this 
morning." 

Harding  had  paused  with  one  foot  across  the  threshold. 
He  spoke  in  a  steady  voice,  rather  below  his  ordinary 
tone.  "  I  preferred  coming  early,  before  the  other 
scholars  arrived,  as  I  wished  to  say  a  word  about  the 
lad." 

"  Won't  you  step  in  ?"  said  the  schoolmaster,  quite 
taken  by  surprise  at  the  manner  of  his  visitor,  in  which 
was  nothing  of  the  fierce  indignation  apparent  at  their 
last  interview. 

"  No,  I  thank  you.     You  can  go  in,  Andrew." 

The  boy  entered  quietly,  and  went  with  a  stealthy 
Btep  to  his  usual  seat. 

"  I  called  to  say,  Mr.  Long,"  resumed  the  carpenter, 
(c  that  Andrew  promises,  if  you  will  forgive  him,  never 
again  to  be  guilty  of  such  bad  conduct.  I  think  his 
punishment  has  already  been  severe  enough,  and  of  a 
character  not  likely  soon  to  be  forgotten.  He  has  been 
very  wicked,  but,  I  think,  repents  sincerely." 

"I  am  not  angry  with  him,"  said  the  schoolmaster, 
"but  grieved  that  any  scholar  of  mine  should  commit 
that  most  disgraceful  of  all  offences — playing  the  truant. 
If  you  think  he  has  been  sufficiently  punished,  and  sin 
cerely  repents,  the  matter  can  rest  where  it  is;  but  I 
will  not  promise,  for  the  future,  should  he  offend  again. 
The  example  would  be  too  pernicious." 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD.        95 

"  I  think  you  can  trust  him,"  answered  the  carpenter, 
as  he  moved  back  a  few  steps  from  the  door.  "  Good 
morning,"  he  added,  after  standing  silent  for  a  moment 
or  two,  and  went  away. 

Mr.  Long  felt  rather  strangely  on  finding  himself 
alone  with  the  boy,  after  this  brief  interview  with  Hard 
ing.  In  both  the  father  and  son,  a  striking  change  was 
apparent.  As  to  the  basis  of  the  change,  he  was  alto 
gether  ignorant.  The  natural  conclusion  to  which  his 
mind  came,  almost  without  reflection,  was,  that  the  car 
penter  had  punished  his  child  with  a  measure  of  severity 
from  which  his  own  better  consciousness  now  revolted, 
and  that,  as  some  reparation  for  his  cruelty,  he  now 
sought  to  screen  him  from  further  consequences.  That 
both  were  greatly  subdued,  was  apparent  at  a  glance. 

"  Andrew,"  said  the  schoolmaster.  He  spoke  kindly, 
but  seriously. 

The  child  looked  up  timidly. 

"  Come  here,  Andrew." 

The  boy  left  his  seat,  and  came  toward  the  school 
master,  with  a  slow  movement,  his  eyes  fixed  earnestly 
and  inquiringly  upon  his  face. 

There  were  unmistakable  marks  of  suffering  and  fear 
in  that  young  countenance;  and,  as  Mr.  Long  noted 
them,  pity  for  the  lad  and  a  new  interest  in  regard  to 
him  were  awakened  in  his  mind. 

"  Poor  boy  !"  It  was  his  involuntary  mental  ejacula 
tion.  Scarcely  thinking  of  what  he  was  doing,  he  took 
Andrew,  by  the  hand,  and  said,  kindly — 

"  I  am  sorry  you  were  so  naughty  yesterday.  How 
came  you  to  do  so  ?" 

The  child's  lips  quivered  a  moment,  and  his  eyes  fell 
to  the  ground.  A  little  while  he  stood  silent. 

"  How  came  you  to  do  so,  Andrew  ?"  The  voice  that 
said  this  was  kind  and  encouraging. 

"I  don't  know,  Mr.  Long,"  was  answered;  and  now 


96        THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD. 

the  boy's  clear  eyes — the  schoolmaster  was  struck  with 
the  softness  of  their  expression — were  raised  to  his. 
"It  seemed  as  if  I  couldn't  help  it.  I  didn't  think 
much,  at  first,  what  I  was  doing;  but  when  I  got  a 
going,  it  was  like  running  down  hill.  I  could  not  stop 
myself." 

"  You  are  sorry  about  it,  are  you  not,  Andrew  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,  Mr.  Long.  I  can't  tell  you  how  sorry  I  am. 
I  wish  I  hadn't  done  it." 

"  You  will  never  do  so  again  ?" 

"  Not  if  I  can  help  it,  Mr.  Long." 

"  You  can  help  it,  Andrew,"  said  the  schoolmaster,  in 
a  serious  voice.  "  Every  one  can  help  doing  wrong." 

"I  don't  know."  The  child  spoke  half  to  himself, 
and  in  a  tone  so  sad,  that  the  schoolmaster  was  touched 
by  it.  "  It  seems  as  if  I  couldn't  help  it,  sometimes." 

"  Do  you  ever  say  your  prayers,  on  going  to  bed  at 
night  ?"  asked  the  schoolmaster,  after  a  few  moments  of 
thoughtful  silence. 

"  I  used  to  say  them  a  good  while  ago ;  but  I  never 
do  now,"  was  answered. 

"  You  must  begin  again,  Andrew,  if  you  desire  to  be 
a  good  boy.  Begin  this  very  night.  Do  not  get  into 
bed  until  you  have  knelt  down  and  said,  l  Our  Father 
who  art  in  heaven/  Do  Lotty  and  Philip  say  their 
prayers  at  night  ?" 

"  No,  sir.  Mother  doesn't  teach  any  of  us  to  say  our 
prayers." 

"  Do  you  ever  read  in  the  Bible  ?" 

"  Mother  won't  let  me  have  the  Bible." 

"Why  not?" 

"  She  says  I  dirty  the  leaves  and  pictures." 

"  Have  you  no  Testament  ?" 

"No,  sir." 

"  If  I  give  you  one,  will  you  read  in  it  ?" 

"Yes,  sir." 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD.        97 

"  Very  well,  Andrew,  I  will  bring  you  a  Testament 
this  afternoon,  and  it  shall  be  yours  if  you  will  learn  a 
verse  in  it  every  day." 

The  lad's  face  brightened  with  real  pleasure. 

"  Not  all  evil — no,  not  all  evil !"  were  the  school 
master's  earnestly,  inward  spoken  words.  "  The  inno 
cence  of  childhood  has  been  trampled  on  and  overlaid ; 
but  there  is  good  ground  still,  ready  for  the  hand  of 
culture." 

"  Andrew,"  said  he,  after  a  slight  pause,  "  you  must 
be  on  your  guard  when  the  other  boys  come  to  school. 
It  is  known  that  you  have  played  truant,  and  some  of 
them  will  be  sure  to  say  unkind  things  to  you  about  it. 
Try  and  not  get  angry — try  hard,  and  I'm  sure  you  can 
help  it.  Don't  seem  to  mind  what  they  say,  and  they'll 
soon  let  you  alone." 

The  form  of  a  boy  darkened  the  door  at  this  moment, 
and  the  conference  of  Andrew  and  the  schoolmaster  was 
at  an  end. 


98        THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

IT  was  evening.  Lotty  and  Grace  were  sleeping,  side 
by  side,  and  Philip,  a  restless,  rather  fretful  child  of  four 
years,  had  some  time  since  been  taken  off  to  bed.  Mrs. 
Harding,  having  cleared  away  the  supper  things,  now 
busily  plied  her  needle.  Her  husband  was  near  her,  by 
the  table,  his  head  resting  on  his  hand,  and  his  mind 
busy  with  a  new  train  of  thoughts  that  occupied  it  almost 
per  force.  Side  by  side,  on  two  low  chairs,  sat  Andrew 
and  his  sister  Lucy,  younger  by  two  years.  Andrew 
held  open  in  his  hands  the  Testament  given  him,  ac 
cording  to  promise,  by  Mr.  Long,  and  he  was  reading 
from  it  in  a  low  voice,  while  Lucy  leaned  toward  him, 
listening  intently.  The  mother's  ears  were  open,  as  well 
as  Lucy's,  and  took  in  every  word ;  and  it  was  not  long 
before  Harding  began  to  listen  also.  Andrew  was  read 
ing  of  the  birth  of  Christ  in  the  city  of  Bethlehem,  and 
of  the  wise  men  who  came  from  the  East,  guided  by  the 
star  that  heralded  his  wonderful  advent.  It  was  many, 
many  years  since  the  words  of  this  strange  history  had 
been  in  his  thoughts ;  and  now  they  came  to  him  with  a 
newly  awakening  interest.  Andrew  read  on — of  the 
angel  who  appeared  to  Joseph  in  a  dream,  warning  him 
of  the  evil  designs  of  Herod — of  the  cruel  slaughter  of 
the  Innocents — of  John  the  Baptist  preaching  repent 
ance  in  the  wilderness  of  Judea — and  of  the  baptism  of 
the  Saviour  in  Jordan. 

All  unconscious  that  his  father  and  mother  were  list 
ening,  the  boy  continued  to  read.  What  a  power  was 
in  the  divine  word,  coming  to  their  ears,  as  it  did,  borne 
on- the  voice  of  a  child  !  There  was  a  wonderful  fascination 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD.        99 

about  every  fact  and  every  holy  sentiment.  They  saw, 
in  imagination,  Jesus  led  up,  of  the  Spirit,  into  the  wil 
derness,  to  be  tempted  of  the  devil;  and  when  the  re 
buked  tempter  left  him,  they  felt  a  sense  of  pleasure  at 
the  triumph  of  good  over  evil,  that  passed  with  a  low 
thrill  to  the  profoundest  depths  of  their  being.  In  the 
call  of  Simon  and  Andrew,  and  James  and  John,  the 
sons  of  Zebedee,  they  almost  seemed  to  hear  the  Lord 
speaking  to  them,  and  calling  them  to  a  new  life.  They 
saw  him  going  about  through  Galilee,  teaching  in  the 
synagogues,  and  preaching  the  gospel  of  the  kingdom, 
and  healing  all  manner  of  sickness  and  all  manner  of 
disease  among  the  people.  And  when  he  went  up  into 
a  mountain,  and  taught  from  thence  the  multitude,  the 
divine  words  he  uttered  came  to  them  with  a  spirit  and 
power  that  lifted  their  souls  into  higher  regions,  and 
gave  them  perceptions  of  truths  such  as  had  never  come 
to  them  before. 

"  Blessed  are  the  merciful,  for  they  shall  obtain 
mercy.  Blessed  are  the  pure  in  heart,  for  they  shall  see 
God.  Blessed  are  the  peacemakers,  for  they  shall  be 
called  the  children  of  God." 

Many  times,  in  earlier  days — days  in  which  some  rosy 
gleams  from  the  morning  of  childhood  mingled  with  the 
colder  light  of  selfish  maturity — had  they  heard  these 
beautiful  sentences;  but  never  had  the  words  so  pene 
trated  their  souls;  never  had  they  felt  such  a  sad, 
almost  hopeless  yearning  to  rise  into  the  holy  states  of 
the  merciful,  the  pure  in  heart,  and  the  peacemaker. 

Still  Andrew  read  on,  unconscious  that  other  ears 
than  Lucy's  were  hearkening  to  his  utterance  intently. 

"  Let  your  light  so  shine  before  men,  that  they  may 
see  your  good  works,  and  glorify  your  Father  which  is  in 
heaven." 

A  low  sigh  from  the  mother's  heart  trembled,  scarce 
audibly,  on  the  air. 


100       THE  ANGEL  OP  THE  HOUSEHOLD. 


"  Again,  ye  have  heard  that  it  hath  been  said  by  them 
of  old  time,  Thou  shalt  not  forswear  thyself,  but  shalt 
perform  unto  the  Lord  thine  oaths.  But  I  say  unto  you, 
Swear  not  at  all :  neither  by  heaven,  for  it  is  God's 
throne;  nor  by  the  earth,  for  it  is  his  footstool;  neither 
by  Jerusalem,  for  it  is  the  city  of  the  great  king. 
Neither  shalt  thou  swear  by  thy  head,  because  thou 
canst  not  make  one  hair  white  or  black;  but  let  your 
communication  be  yea,  yea ;  nay,  nay :  for  whatsoever 
is  more  than  these,  cometh  of  evil." 

"  Cometh  of  evil — cometh  of  evil."  How  the  words 
sounded  in  the  ears  of  Jacob  Harding,  over  and  over 
again,  as  if  spoken  directly  to  him  ! 

"  But  I  say  unto  you,  Love  your  enemies,  bless  them 
them  that  curse  you,  do  good  to  them  that  hate  you,  and 
pray  for  them  which  despitefully  use  you  and  persecute 
you :  that  ye  may  be  the  children  of  your  Father  which 
is  in  heaven ;  for  he  maketh  his  sun  to  rise  on  the  evil 
and  on  the  good,  and  sendeth  rain  on  the  just  and  on  the 
unjust.  For  if  ye  love  them  which  love  you,  what  re 
ward  have  ye  ?  do  not  even  the  publicans  the  same  ? 
And  if  ye  salute  your  brethren  only,  what  do  ye  more 
than  others  ?  do  not  even  the  publicans  so  ?  Be  ye 
therefore  perfect,  even  as  your  Father  which  is  in 
heaven  is  perfect." 

Tired  with  reading  aloud,  Andrew  now  closed  his 
Testament,  and  said,  in  a  kind  way,  to  his  sister — 

"  Come,  Lucy — let's  go  to  bed." 

Lucy  made  no  objection,  and  the  two  children,  who 
had  learned  to  wait  on  themselves,  took  a  candle,  and 
went  off  to  their  chamber,  up  stairs,  without  a  cross  or 
angry  word — something  so  unusual,  that  both  father  and 
mother  noted  it  with  surprise. 

Plying  her  needle,  sat  Mrs.  Harding,  and  near  her, 
his  hand  shading  his  face  from  the  light,  was  her  hus 
band,  almost  motionless.  In  the  minds  of  both  lingered 


THE   ANGfet   OF  TI?E 


101 


passages  just  read  from  the  Word  of  Life,  while  a  deep 
calmness  pervaded  their  spirits.  Not  so  much  rebuked 
•were  they  by  the  truths,  condemnatory  of  the  past, 
which  seemed  spoken  anew,  as  inspired  by  a  dawning 
hope  of  something  better  in  the  future.  A  dim  fore 
shadowing  of  better  and  happier  states  came  to  both,  and 
with  it  an  awakening  tenderness  each  for  the  other,  and 
a  deeper,  purer,  more  unselfish  love  for  their  children. 

A  little  while  they  had  heard  Andrew  and  Lucy 
moving  about  in  the  chamber  above ;  then  all  was  still. 
Presently  there  stole  down  a  low  murmur.  The  mother's 
hand  rested  in  her  lap,  and  she  raised  her  head  to  listen. 

"  What  is  that  ?"  she  said,  rising  and  going  to  the4 
foot  of  the  stairway. 

"  Give  us  this  day  our  daily  bread,  and  forgive  us  our 
debts" 

This  much  she  heard  distinctly,  in  the  voice  of 
Andrew. 

The  murmuring  sound  was  continued  for  a  little  while, 
and  then  all  was  silent. 

"What  was  it?"  asked  Harding,  as  his  wife  came 
back  to  her  seat  by  the  table. 

A  moment  or  two  Mrs.  Harding  gazed  into  her  hus 
band's  face,  as  if  to  read  his  state  of  mind,  and  then 
answered — 

"  It  was  Andrew,  saying  his  prayers." 

The  hand  that  had  been  withdrawn  from  between  the 
light  and  his  face,  was  quickly  restored  to  its  position  by 
Harding,  who  turned  himself  a  little  farther  away  from 
observation,  and  did  not  speak  for  nearly  half  an  hour. 
That  time  was  spent  in  an  almost  involuntary  review  of 
the  past,  and  in  partially  formed  purposes  to  live  a  better 
life  in  the  future ;  if  not  for  his  own  sake,  at  least  for 
the  sake  of  his  children. 

Very  gently  did  sleep  draw  her  dusky  curtains  around 

the  weary  heads  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Harding  that  night. 
9* 


102  T$E   AKGEX.  ,OF  ;T^*E   ^©USEHOLD. 


Morning  found  their  spirits  calm,  hopeful,  and  yearning 
for  the  better  life,  of  whose  beatitudes  came  to  them 
some  partial  glimpses  as  they  listened  to  the  words  of 
the  Saviour,  teaching  the  multitudes  that  gathered  to 
hear,  as  he  sat  upon  the  mountain  of  Galilee. 


CHAPTER  X. 

ONE  day,  a  few  weeks  later  in  the  course  of  events  we 
are  recording,  Miss  Gimp  was  a  little  fluttered  by  seeing 
a  handsome  carriage  draw  up  before  her  humble  dwell 
ing.  She  looked,  of  course,  for  a  richly  dressed  lady  to 
emerge  from  so  elegant  a  vehicle ;  but,  instead,  a  plainly 
attired  girl,  evidently  a  domestic  in  some  family,  stepped 
upon  the  ground.  The  dressmaker  was  already  in  the 
door. 

"  Does  Miss  Gimp  live  here  ?"  asked  the  girl. 

"  That  is  my  name :  will  you  walk  in  T'  said  the 
dressmaker. 

The  girl  entered,  and  took  the  chair  that  was 
proffered. 

"  Are  you  very  busy  at  this  time  ?"  she  inquired. 

"  Not  very,7'  answered  Miss  Gimp. 

"  Have  you  a  week  to  spare  ?" 

"  I  don't  know  about  that,"  replied  the  dressmaker. 
"  Who  wants  me  for  a  week  T' 

"  Mrs.  Barclay." 

"  Mrs.  Barclay,  over  at  Beechwood  ?" 

"  Yes.     You  made  a  dress  for  her  last  fall,  I  believe." 

"  Yes.     When  does  she  want  me  ?" 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD.       103 


"  Right  away,  if  you  can  come." 

Miss  Gimp  considered  a  little  while. 

"  I  have  two  dresses  to  finish/'  said  she;  " after  that, 
I  can  go  to  Mrs.  Barclay/' 

"How  long  will  it  take  you  to  finish  these  dresses ?" 
asked  the  girl. 

"  To-day  and  to-morrow." 

"  Then  you  can  come  the  day  after  to-morrow  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  Very  well.  I'll  say  so  to  Mrs.  Barclay.  At  what 
time  in  the  morning  will  you  be  ready  T} 

11  As  early  as  you  please." 

"  Say  nine  o'clock  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Very  well,"  said  the  girl ;  "I  will  be  over  for  you, 
in  the  carriage,  by  that  time." 

Miss  Gimp  was  very  good  at  promising,  and  at  per 
forming  also,  when  it  suited  her  to  keep  her  engage 
ments.  In  the  present  case,  she  meant  to  be  as  good  as 
her  word,  even  though  in  keeping  her  word  to  Mrs. 
Barclay,  she  broke  it  to  her  very  particular  friends, 
Mrs.  Jarvis  and  the  storekeeper's  wife,  for  both  of  whom, 
she  had  promised  to  make  dresses,  as  soon  as  the  work 
on  hand  was  finished.  The  Barclays  were  wealthy 
people,  and  she  could  afford  to  disappoint  her  less  pre 
tending  neighbours,  for  the  sake  of  making  favour  with 
them. 

According  to  appointment,  the  handsome  carriage 
drew  up  before  the  dressmaker's  door  exactly  at  nine 
o'clock  on  the  day  agreed  upon,  and  Miss  Gimp, 
conscious  of  having  acquired  a  new  importance,  was 
soon  reposing  among  its  luxurious  cushions.  Past  the 
dwelling  of  Mrs.  Willits  drove  the  elegant  vehicle,  and 
Miss  Gimp  did  not  fail  to  lean  from  the  window,  to 
throw  a  smile  at  the  storekeeper's  wife,  who  exclaimed 
to  herself — 


104  THE   ANGEL   OF   THE    HOUSEHOLD. 

"  Why,  bless  us  !     What  does  all  this  mean  T' 

A  brisk  drive  of  half  an  hour  brought  them  to  the 
stately  residence  of  the  Barclays — the  finest  within  a 
circle  of  twenty  miles.  Mrs.  Barclay,  a  handsome  but 
dignified  woman — her  age  was  not  over  thirty-five — re 
ceived  the  dressmaker  kindly,  but  with  a  manner  that  at 
once  repelled  all  gossipping  familiarity.  She  had  sent 
for  her  as  a  workwoman,  to  perform  a  needed  service, 
and  wished  for  nothing  beyond ;  and  it  was  but  a  little 
while  before  Miss  Gimp  understood  this  clearly.  Two 
or  three  times  during  the  first  day,  she  tried  to  draw 
Mrs.  Barclay  out ;  but  it  was  of  no  use — the  lady  wanted 
her  skill  as  a  dressmaker;  but,  beyond  this,  neither 
asked  nor  received  any  thing. 

"Proud — haughty  —  stuck  up!"  Many  times  did 
Miss  Gimp  repeat  these  words  to  herself,  by  way  of  con 
solation  in  her  disappointment  at  not  being  questioned 
by  Mrs.  Barclay  about  people  for  whom  she  had  worked. 
There  were  the  Wilsons  and  the  Mayfields — she  had 
made  dresses  for  them,  and  quietly  intimated  the  fact — 
of  whom,  considering  their  position,  Mrs.  Barclay  must 
want  to  hear  the  dressmaker's  opinion.  But  not  the 
slightest  sign  of  interest  was  manifested  by  the  lady. 
Once  or  twice  Miss  Gimp  alluded  to  them,  in  a  way 
that  she  believed  would  draw  Mrs.  Barclay  out ;  but  the 
allusion  was  met  by  a  frigid  silence. 

Mrs.  Barclay  had  a  daughter  in  her  fifteenth  year, 
who,  though  but  a  child,  was  as  reserved  to  the  dress 
maker  as  her  mother.  Miss  Gimp  tried  hard  to  win  her 
confidence  by  a  chatty  familiarity ;  but  Florence  repalled 
all  these  advances — politely,  yet  effectually. 

On  the  second  day  of  Miss  Gimp's  rather  uncomfort 
able  sojourn  in  this  family,  where  she  was  appreciated 
only  for  her  skill  in  mantua-making,  she  heard  Mrs. 
Barclay  remark  to  her  daughter  in  a  low  voice — 

"  Your  aunt  Edith  Beaufort  will  be  here  to-morrow." 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD.       105 

"  She  will !"  There  was  a  tone  of  surprise  in  the 
voice  of  Florence  that  instantly  quickened  the  ears  of 
Miss  Gimp,  who  bent  closer  to  her  work  in  order  to 
seem  entirely  absorbed  therein. 

"  Yes.  I  got  a  note  from  her  a  little  while  ago. 
Jacob  brought  it  over,"  answered  the  mother. 

"I  thought  she  was  going  back  to  Clinton,  after 
finishing  her  visit  to  Mrs.  Larch." 

"  She  intended  doing  so  when  she  left  here ;  but  she 
wants  to  see  your  father  about  some  business  matters 
that  she  says  needs  his  attention." 

"  How  long  is  she  going  to  stay  ?"  inquired  Florence. 

"  A  week,  she  says." 

"  I  don't  like  aunt  Edith,  and  I  can't  help  it,"  re 
marked  Florence.  "  I  never  feel  pleasant  when  she  is 
here ;  and  am  always  relieved  from  a  kind  of  pressure  on 
my  feelings  when  she  goes." 

"  You  should  try  to  overcome  this,"  said  Mrs.  Bar 
clay.  "  Your  aunt  is  always  kind,  and,  I  think,  much 
attached  to  you.  She  has  her  peculiarities,  as  we  all 
have;  and  toleration  of  individual  peculiarities,  as  I 
have  often  said  to  you,  is  a  common  duty  we  owe  to 
each  other." 

"  I  often  wish,  mother,"  replied  the  girl,  in  a  gentler 
tone,  "  that  I  were  more  like  you — that  I  could  forget 
and  deny  myself  for  the  sake  of  others,  as  much  as 
you  do." 

"  It  is  not  in  our  power,"  answered  Mrs.  Barclay,  "  to 
love  others  and  seek  their  good  by  a  mere  effort  of  the 
mind.  Desire  is  fruitless,  unless  it  flows  into  action. 
What  we  have  to  do,  is  to  be  externally  kind  and  for 
bearing — to  do  that  good  for  others  which  reason  and 
religion  enjoin  upon  us.  This  may  require  some  effort 
and  self-denial  in  the  beginning;  but  acts,  from  right 
principles,  form  vessels  in  the  mind,  into  which  affec 
tions  can  flow  and  find  a  permanent  abiding  place. 


106  TflE   ANGEL   OF   THE    HOUSEHOLD. 


What  is  mere  duty  at  first,  becomes  ultimately  a  de 
light." 

Florence  bent  her  head,  listening  attentively,  and 
seeking  to  find,  in  her  mother's  earnestly  spoken  words, 
the  power  to  overcome.  And  she  did  receive  strength. 

Miss  Gimp,  whose  ears  had  taken  in  every  word  of 
this  conversation,  was  puzzled  to  comprehend  its  entire 
meaning.  The  words  she  understood ;  but  to  hear  such 
words  from  the  lips  of  Mrs.  Barclay,  whom  she  had  re 
garded  only  as  a  proud  woman  of  the  world,  bewildered 
her.  Could  they  be  spoken  sincerely  ?  Yet  there  was 
no  room  for  doubt.  They  were  the  utterance  of  a 
mother — made  only  for  the  ears  of  a  beloved  and  con 
fiding  child.  In  spite  of  her  wounded  self-love,  Miss 
Gimp  could  not  but  feel  respect  for  Mrs.  Barclay.  From 
that  time,  she  was  subdued  and  reserved  in  her  pre 
sence. 

On  the  next  day,  aunt  Edith  Beaufort  came.  She 
was  a  woman  past  the  middle  age ;  tall  and  dignified  in 
person;  somewhat  proud  and  stately  in  her  carriage; 
and  with  an  eye  that,  when  it  looked  at  any  one  steadily, 
seemed  to  reach  inward  to  the  very  thoughts.  A  close 
observer  would  not  fail  to  observe  a  certain  cloaking  of 
her  own  purposes.  While  she  sought  to  penetrate  every 
one,  she  as  sedulously  kept  herself  impenetrable. 

Mrs.  Beaufort  had  none  of  the  high-minded  scruples 
that  prevented  her  sister-in-law,  Mrs.  Barclay,  from  list 
ening  to  the  idle  or  malicious  gossip  of  the  dressmaker. 
On  the  other  hand,  she  rather  encouraged  Miss  Gimp  to 
talk.  On  the  morning  after  her  arrival,  Mrs.  Barclay 
and  her  daughter  rode  out.  They  were  gone  a  couple  of 
hours,  and  a  portion  of  this  time  was  spent  by  Mrs. 
Beaufort  in  the  department  where  the  dressmaker  was  at 
work. 

"  What  kind  of  a  man/'  said  she,  during  a  pause  in 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD.       107 

'  Miss  Gimp's  tittle-tattle,  "  is  your  carpenter  ?     Hard 
ing,  I  believe,  is  his  name." 

"  Oh,  a  very  bad  sort  of  a  man,"  promptly  answered 
Miss  Gimp.  "  The  worst  man  I  ever  knew." 

A  slight  shadow  flitted  over  the  countenance  of  Mrs. 
Beaufort,  and  there  was  a  perceptible  huskiness  in  her 
voice  as  she  said — 

"  Bad  in  what  way  ?" 

"  Why  in  every  way." 

"  Bad-tempered  ?"  inquired  Mrs.  Beaufort. 

"  You'd  think  so,  if  you'd  ever  seen  him  among  his 
children.  He  came  near  killing  his  oldest  boy  two  or 
three  weeks  ago." 

"How?" 

"  He  stole  money,  and  lied,  and  played  truant  into  the 
bargain.  His  father  beat  him  almost  to  death." 

«  He  did !" 

"  Yes,  indeed !  The  poor  little  fellow  is  only  eight 
years  old,  and  if  he  did  do  wrong,  wasn't  to  be  treated 
like  a  dog  or  a  vicious  horse." 

Mrs.  Beaufort  sighed,  and  fell  into  a  state  of  mental 
abstraction,  from  which  the  dressmaker  soon  aroused 
her,  by  saying — 

"  The  strangest  and  saddest  thing  of  all  is,  somebody 
left  a  little  helpless  infant  at  their  door  not  long  since." 

Mrs.  Beaufort  started. 

"  Well,  what  of  it  ?"  she  said,  partially  averting  her 
face. 

"What  of  it?  They  might  as  well  have  placed  a 
lamb  among  wolves." 

"  You  speak  strongly,  Miss  Gimp."  Mrs.  Beaufort 
now  fixed  her  eyes  upon  her  with  a  searching  look. 
"  Have  you  heard  of  their  ill-treating  the  child  ?" 

"Not  particularly,"  answered  Miss  Gimp.  "The 
fact  is,  nobody  hardly  ever  goes  there.  But  what  are 


108  THE   ANGEL  OF  THE   HOUSEHOLD. 

you  to  expect  of  people  who  treat  their  own  children 
as  if  they  were  wild  animals,  instead  of  human  beings  T' 

"Have  you  seen  the  stranger  baby  of  whom  you 
speak  ?"  inquired  the  lady. 

"  Oh  yes." 

"  What  kind  of  a  baby  is  it  ?" 

"  One  born  for  a  better  lot  than  that  which  has  been 
so  cruelly  assigned  to  it.  The  mother  who  could  desert 
that  child  had  a  heart  of  stone.  It  is  the  sweetest,  love 
liest  little  darling  that  ever  I  saw ;  and  everybody  says 
the  same." 

"Does  no  one  suspect  from  whence  it  came ?" 

Miss  Gimp  looked  knowing,  as  she  answered — 

"  Every  one  has  the  liberty  of  guessing,  you  know, 
madam."  . 

"  True.  But  what  ground  for  guessing  is  there  in  the 
present  case  ?" 

"  We  know  one  thing  for  certain,"  replied  Miss  Gimp. 
<(  It  came  not  a  hundred  miles  from  Beechwood." 

"Ah!" 

Mrs.  Beaufort  manifested  some  surprise. 

"  What  reason  have  you  for  saying  this  ?" 

"  The  woman  who  left  it  at  Harding's  was  seen." 

"Who  saw  her?" 

There  was,  on  the  part  of  Mrs.  Beaufort,  an  evident 
desire  to  conceal  the  interest  she  felt  in  the  subject, 
which  did  not  escape  the  quick  penetration  of  Miss 
Gimp. 

"  Harry  Wilkins,  a  neighbour  of  mine,  saw  her.  He 
met  her  carrying  a  basket,  as  he  was  going  over  to 
Beechwood.  She  acted  strangely,  and  this  caused  him 
to  notice  her.  As  he  was  returning  home,  he  met  her 
again,  without  the  basket.  It  was  on  the  very  evening 
the  babe  was  found." 

"And  that  is  all  you  know  about  it?"  said  Mrs. 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD.       109 

Beaufort,  the  earnestness  of  manner,  shown  a  little  while 
before,  all  gone. 

"  All  I  know  now,  certainly,  but  not  all  I  expect  to 
know,"  replied  Miss  Gimp.  "  Harry  Wilkins  says  that 
he  got  a  good  look  at  the  young  woman's  face,  and  that 
he  would  know  it  again  among  thousands.  He  thought 
he  saw  her  about  two  weeks  ago,  and,  if  it  hadn't  been 
just  where  it  was,  he  would  have  been  sure  of  it." 

The  interest  of  Mrs.  Beaufort  reawakened. 

"  Where  did  he  think  he  saw  her  ?"  she  inquired. 

"  Over  at  Clifton." 

Mrs.  Beaufort  started.  The  eyes  of  Miss  Gimp  were 
fixed  intently  upon  the  lady,  in  whose  face  she  read 
much  more  than  Mrs.  Beaufort  wished  to  reveal.  The 
two  looked  earnestly  at  each  other  for  some  moments, 
and  then  their  eyes  fell  to  the  floor.  Nearly  a  minute 
of  silence  followed.  Mrs.  Beaufort  then  said,  with  appa 
rent  indifference — 

"  Over  at  Clifton  ?" 

"Yes,  ma'am.  He  was  riding  over  there  to  see  a 
man  on  some  business,  when,  just  as  he  came  in  sight  of 
the  village,  a  carriage  drove  by,  having  in  it  two  ladies. 
One  of  them,  he  is  almost  sure,  was  the  woman  he  saw 
on  the  night  the  child  was  found.  If  her  vail  hadn't 
been  partly  over  her  face,  he  would  have  been  in  no 
doubt.  He  says  he  turned  his  horse,  and  rode  after  the 
carriage  until  he  saw  where  it  stopped." 

«  He  did  ?" 

"  Yes,  ma'am." 

« Did  he  describe  the  house?" 

"  Yes.  It  was  a  large,  old-fashione<|>  stone  house, 
with  beautiful  grounds  about  it." 

"  Didn't  he  ask  who  lived  there  ?" 

"Yes;  but  he  forgot  the  name.  He's  going  over 
there  in  a  few  weeks,  and  then  he  will  learn  all  he  can 
10 


110       THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD. 

about  the  people  who  live  in  the  house.  So  you  see, 
ma'am,  we're  likely  to  find  out  something." 

Mrs.  Beaufort  made  no  answer,  but  sat  lost  in  the 
tangled  maze  of  her  own  thoughts  for  a  long  time.  Ever 
and  anon  the  dressmaker  would  cast  stealthy  glances 
toward  her,  but  the  lady  seemed  all  unconscious  of  ob 
servation.  Her  face,  now  in  repose,  and  taking  its  hue 
from  the  tenor  of  her  thoughts,  was  one  to  puzzle  a 
wiser  physiognomist  than  Miss  Gimp.  Its  expression, 
even,  she  could  see,  was  bad — bad,  as  indicating  the 
long  predominance  of  selfish  purposes  and  an  overmaster 
ing  self-will.  And  yet  it  contained  traces  of  an  old 
beauty.  The  lines  were  sharpened  by  pride  and  passion, 
not  rounded  by  a  debasing  sensuality.  Yet  was  not  all 
bad.  A  softness  about  the  delicately  formed  mouth  and 
gently  receding  chin,  showed  that  all  the  true  woman  in 
her  had  not  suffered  obliteration.  Without  speaking, 
she  at  length  arose,  and  went  from  the  apartment  with  a 
slow,  stately  step. 

"  I'll  read  that  riddle  before  I'm  done  with  it,"  said 
the  dressmaker,  letting  her  hands  fall  into  her  lap,  the 
moment  she  was  alone,  and  raising  her  body  into  an 
erect  position.  "  My  lady  knows  all  about  this  matter, 
or  I'm  mistaken.  Let  me  see.  Clifton?  Didn't  Flo 
rence  Barclay  say  something  about  her  aunt's  going 
back  to  Clifton  ?  Be  sure,  she  did  !  I  remember  it  now 
distinctly." 

What  a  light  came  into  the  shrivelled  face  of  Miss 
Gimp! 

"And  then,"  she  continued,  "what  interest,  I  won 
der,  could  a  woman  like  her  feel  in  a  man  like  Harding, 
if  there  were  not  something  behind  the  curtain  ?  How 
did  she  know  there  was  such  a  man  ?  It's  all  clear  as 
daylight.  I  see  it  as  plain  as  I  do  that  butterfly  on  the 
window.  I'll  call  at  Harry  Wilkins',  as  soon  as  I  go 
home,  and  tell  him  to  be  sure  and  find  out  the  name  of 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD.      Ill 

them  people  the  next  time  he  goes  over  to  Clifton.  I 
wouldn't  be  much  afraid  to  bet" 

The  door  opened,  and  Mrs.  Beaufort  re-entered.  She 
had  a  silk  dress  in  her  hand,  one  of  the  breadths  of 
which  had  received  an  ugly  fracture. 

"  Can  you  mend  that  neatly  for  me  ?"  said  she,  as  she 
held  the  dress  toward  Miss  Gimp. 

The  latter  examined  the  rent. 

"  The  edges  are  very  much  frayed  out ;  but  I  will  do 
the  best  I  can." 

"  I  would  like  you  to  do  it  now.  I  wish  to  wear  the 
dress  this  afternoon." 

Miss  Grimp  laid  aside  the  work  on  which  she  was  en 
gaged,  and  commenced  repairing  the  damaged  silk,  while 
Mrs.  Beaufort  sat  by,  looking  on. 

"  You  think,"  said  the  latter,  speaking  as  if  she  were 
continuing  a  conversation,  "that  your  neighbours  will 
ill-treat  the  babe  ?" 

"If  they  ill-treat  their  own  children,  what  can  you 
hope  for  other  people's  that  fall  into  their  hands  ?  It's 
my  opinion  that  the  neighbours  ought  to  take  it  away 
from  them,  and  send  it  to  the  poor-house ;  and  I've  said 
so  from  the  beginning.  But  what  is  everybody's  busi 
ness  is  nobody's  business." 

"  Is  Harding  getting  along  pretty  well  ?"  Mrs.  Beau 
fort  inquired,  after  a  pause. 

"  Men  like  him  never  get  along  well,"  answered  the 
uncompromising  dres'smaker. 

"  Isn't  he  a  good  workman  ?" 

"  The  best  in  twenty  miles  round,  I've  heard  it  said. 
But  what  does  that  signify  ?" 

«  Does  he  drink  ?" 

"He's  seen  too  often  at  Stark' s  tavern,  if  that  indi 
cates  any  thing.  I  can't  say  that  he  gets  drunk ;  but 
you  know  to  what  tavern-going  leads." 


112       THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD. 

"  Is  he  at  all  beforehand  in  the  world  ?"  inquired  the 
lady. 

"  He's  in  debt  at  the  store.  Mrs.  Willits  told  me  this 
herself,  and  that  her  husband  was  going  to  stop  trusting 
him.  That  doesn't  look  very  much  to  me  as  if  he  was 
beforehanded." 

Mrs.  Beaufort  sighed  gently,  was  if  some  unpleasant 
thought  had  flitted  across  her  mind.  Then  she  changed 
the  subject,  and  did  not  once  again  allude  to  it,  even  re 
motely.  After  the  torn  dress  was  mended,  she  thanked 
Miss  Gimp,  with  a  reserved  and  dignified  air,  and  with 
drew  from  the  room.  The  dressmaker  did  not  see  her 
again,  and  only  learned,  incidentally,  that  she  left  for 
her  home  on  the  next  morning. 


CHAPTER  XL 

THE  feeble  aspirations  for  a  better  life,  which  had 
been  awakened  in  the  breast  of  Jacob  Harding,  struggled 
not  toward  activity  without  frequent  assaults  from  the 
tempter.  Too  deeply  interwoven,  in  the  very  texture  of 
his  moral  nature,  were  evil  inclinations,  made  strong  by 
long  indulgence,  for  good  to  gain  an  easy  victory.  His 
life,  for  years,  had  been  one  of  disorder,  internal  as  well 
as  external ;  and  now,  when  there  came  to  him  faint  and 
far-off  glimpses  of  the  beauty  and  desirableness  of  order, 
virtue,  and  religion,  the  new  creation  —  it  could  be 
nothing  less — seemed  so  near  to  an  impossibility,  that 
his  heart  bowed,  at  times,  hopeless — almost  despairing. 

External   causes  of  disturbance   were  added  to  the 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD.       113 

awakening  conflict  within.  On  some  days,  every  thing 
would  go  wrong  with  him,  and  he  would  return  to  his 
home,  when  evening  closed,  in  so  fretted  a  state  of  mind, 
that  his  coming  fell  upon  his  household  like  a  shadow. 
But  the  shadow  darkened  only  for  a  little  while.  The 
presence  of  Grace  was  a  perpetual  sunshine;  and  even 
the  dense  clouds  that  gathered,  at  times,  around  the  car 
penter's  stormy  spirit,  could  not  shut  out  the  light  and 
warmth  diffused  so  genially  around  her.  With  the  babe 
in  his  arms,  or  lying  against  his  breast,  the  enemies  of 
his  spirit  assaulted  him  in  vain.  Deeply  disturbed 
though  he  might  have  been  by  the  conflicts  of  the  day, 
peace  now  folded  her  wings  in  his  heart.  However 
much  doubt  and  despondency,  arising  from  worldly  dis 
appointments,  had  overshadowed  him  with  gloom,  the 
soft  cheek  of  the  little  one  was  never  laid  against  his 
own  without  his  feeling  a  tranquil  confidence  that,  even 
as  God  was  providing  for  the  helpless  innocent,  so  would 
he  provide  for  him.  In  the  clear  depths  of  her  beautiful 
eyes,  he  always  saw  a  light  that  seemed  to  make  plainer 
the  way  before  him. 

But,  had  not  the  babe's  influence  been  felt  by  others 
of  his  household,  as  well  as  by  himself,  Harding  would 
have  struggled  for  self-conquest  in  vain.  Happily,  over 
all,  the  silent  power  of  her  beauty  and  innocence  con 
tinued  to  prevail ;  and,  in  a  marked  degree,  over  Mrs. 
Harding.  Thus,  in  the  better  life,  up  to  which  all  were 
voluntarily  or  involuntarily  aspiring,  a  kind  of  equipoise 
was  established.  The  disturbed  forces  had  received  a 
new  and  better  adjustment.  One  great  gain  on  the  part 
of  both  Harding  and  his  wife  was  this  :  each  had  learned 
to  repress  the  utterance  of  captious  or  ill-natured  words. 
In  former  times,  unkindness  of  thought  found  ever  a 
quick  outbirth  in  harsh,  exciting  language,  that  never 
failed  to  produce  a  storm  of  passion.  These  storms,  and 
their  often  fearful  ravages,  each  remembered  too  well; 
10* 


114  THE   ANGEL   OF   THE   HOUSEHOLD. 

and  in  the  mind  of  each  was  a  sufficient  dread  of  their 
recurrence  to  induce  a  watchful  self-control. 

Since  the  fearful  night  in  which  Andrew  suffered  so 
many  terrors,  there  had  been  a  marked  change  in  this 
wayward  boy.  Mr.  Long,  the  schoolmaster,  seeing  the 
impression  that  remained,  and  feeling  for  him  a  kind  in 
terest,  made  it  a  point  to  notice  him,  and,  as  carefully 
and  judiciously  as  was  in  his  power,  awaken  and  foster 
his  self-respect.  At  least  once  a  week,  he  would  drop  in 
at  the  carpenter's,  and  never  failed,  on  these  occasions, 
to  speak  a  word  in  praise  of  Andrew's  good  conduct  and 
studiousness.  The  lad's  gratified  look,  whenever  this 
was  done,  gave  him  broad  ground  of  hope  for  the 
future. 

The  change  in  Andrew  was  another  readjusted  weight 
in  the  balancing  of  moral  forces  to  which  we  have  re 
ferred.  Without  this  particular  readjustment,  the  new 
equipoise  seen  in  the  carpenter's  family  could  hardly 
have  been  maintained.  Little  trouble  was  required  in 
the  management  of  the  younger  children,  now  that 
Andrew's  baleful  influence  over  them  was,  in  a  great 
measure,  withdrawn;  and  this  left  a  diminished  evil 
pressure  on  the  temper  of  Mrs.  Harding. 

A  man  like  Jacob  Harding  is  never  a  popular  man. 
He  is  sure  to  offend  in  his  business  intercourse  with 
others,  and  to  make  enemies.  Of  the  carpenter,  there 
were  few  to  speak  a  good  word,  beyond  the  fact  that  no 
better  workman  than  he  was  to  be  found.  This  reputa 
tion  had  insured  him  work  that  otherwise  would  have 
found  its  way  to  the  shop  of  a  better-natured,  but  in  no 
way  so  reliable  a  mechanic,  who  lived  in  Beechwood. 
But  there  are  men  who  will  sacrifice  their  interests 
quicker  than  their  feelings.  Two  of  this  class,  who  had 
employed  the  carpenter  for  some  years,  and  given  him  a 
good  deal  of  work  in  that  time,  becoming  offended  in 
consequence  of  some  hasty  words  on  the  part  of  Harding, 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD.       115 


withdrew  their  patronage  and  influence,  and  gave  both 
to  a  young  beginner  in  a  neighbouring  village.  One  of 
these  men  was  about  erecting  a  handsome  dwelling,  for 
which  Harding  had  furnished  a  part  of  the  plans,  and  in 
the  building  of  which  he  had  expected  to  make  a  better 
profit  than  usually  fell  to  his  share.  On  learning  the 
decision  that  had  been  made  in  favour  of  a  rival  work 
man,  the  carpenter  was  oppressed  with  a  sense  of  dis 
couragement  so  great,  that  it  seemed  to  him  as  if  a  high 
mountain  were  suddenly  thrown  across  his  path.  Not  as 
had  been  usual  with  him,  when  things  went  wrong,  did 
he  give  way  to  a  burst  of  passion,  when  the  fact  was 
announced  that  his  old  customers  had  withdrawn  their 
work. 

"  All  right,"  he  answered,  in  a  voice  of  forced  calm 
ness  ;  and  the  messenger  who  brought  the  intelligence 
left  his  shop,  little  dreaming  that  the  seemingly  unmoved 
carpenter  had  wellnigh  staggered  under  his  words  as  if 
they  had  been  heavy  blows.  Upon  these  two  customers, 
Harding  had  depended  for  the  best  of  his  season's  work. 
All  his  other  engagements  were  of  minor  importance, 
and  the  profit  to  accrue  therefrom  scarcely  sufficed  to 
provide  food  for  his  table.  Of  the  causes  leading  to  this 
result  he  was  by  no  means  ignorant.  In  his  last  inter 
view  with  both  of  the  parties,  he  had  suffered  himself  to 
get  very  much  annoyed  at  certain  propositions  which  he 
thought  involved  a  question  of  his  honesty.  Rough  and 
plain  spoken,  he  flung  back  upon  them  the  fancied  im 
putation  in  so  offensive  a  manner  as  to  make  them 
angry,  and  they  left  him  under  a  good  deal  of  excite 
ment.  This,  he  doubted  not,  would  pass  off,  and  leave 
them  ready  to  complete  arrangements  with  him  as  be 
fore.  But  the  sequel  showed  his  error. 

Never  before  had  the  carpenter's  way  seemed  so 
closely  hedged — never  had  he  felt  such  an  oppressive 
sense  of  doubt  and  fear  as  he  looked  into  the  future. 


116  THE  ANGEL   OP  THE   HOUSEHOLD. 

Work  lie  had  usually  had  in  plenty.  It  came  crowding 
in  upon  him  from  all  sides,  and  he  was  oftener  worried 
on  account  of  its  superabundance  than  concerned  for  its 
continuance.  He  had  not  always  executed  with  prompt 
ness  ;  and  to  this  fact  might  be  traced  one  of  the  causes 
of  his  want  of  thrift. 

It  was  nearly  half  an  hour  after  this  unpleasant  intel 
ligence  had  been  received,  and  Harding  stood  leaning  on 
liis  work-bench,  the  chisel  with  which  he  had  been  cut 
ting  a  mortice  resting  idly  in  his  hand,  when  a  form 
darkened  his  shop-door,  and  a  familiar  voice  said — 

"  Good  afternoon,  friend  Harding  !" 

The  carpenter  lifted  his  eyes,  and  met  the  pleasant, 
always  cheerful  face  of  Mr.  Long,  the  schoolmaster,  who 
was  on  his  way  home  after  the  close  of  his  afternoon 
session. 

"  You  seem  troubled,"  said  the  latter.  Harding  had 
looked  at  him,  without  replying.  "  There's  nothing 
wrong  with  you,  I  hope  ?  I  thought  I'd  just  drop  in  to 
say  that  Andrew  is  getting  on  finely." 

"I'm  glad  to  hear  it."  There  was  a  huskiness  in  the 
carpenter's  voice,  that  betrayed  his  unhappy  state. 

"  None  of  your  family  sick,  I  hope  ?"  said  Mr.  Long, 
with  a  kind  interest  that  won  upon  the  carpenter's  feelings. 

"  All  reasonably  well,  I  thank  you." 

"  Any  thing  wrong  in  your  business  ?" 

"I'm  sorry  to  say  that  there  is,"  replied  Harding. 
"I  have  just  lost  my  whole  season's  work." 

"  How  comes  that  ?"  said  Mr.  Long. 

"Two  buildings  that  I  had  engaged  have  gone  into 
the  hands  of  another  carpenter,  and  I  am  left  without  a 
single  contract  of  any  importance." 

"  This  is  bad,"  remarked  the  schoolmaster. 

"  It  is  bad  for  a  man  in  my  situation,  with  a  large 
family  on  his  hands.  What  I  am  to  do,  Heaven  only 
knows !" 


THE  ANGEL  OP  THE  HOUSEHOLD.       117 

Mr.  Long  was  struck  with  the  tone  of  despondency 
in  which  these  words  were  uttered".  Obeying  the 
prompting  impulse  of  the  moment,  he  answered — 

"  You  may  trust  in  Heaven,  Mr.  Harding.  He  that 
feedeth  the  ravens  will  not  suffer  you  to  want." 

The  words  of  the  schoolmaster  produced  a  momentary 
disturbance  in  the  mind  of  Harding,  who  replied,  with 
some  bitterness  of  manner — 

"  Oh !  as  for  me,  I  don't  pretend  to  have  any  claims 
on  Heaven." 

"  All  men,"  replied  Mr.  Long,  "  have  claims  on  their 
Maker  for  things  needful  to  sustain  life,  and  give  them 
the  ability  to  perform  useful  service  in  the  world.  For 
these  you  may  look  with  confidence.  Providence  never 
hedges  up  a  man's  way  in  one  direction,  without  seeing 
that  it  is  opened  in  another.  All  will  come  out  right, 
neighbour  Harding — never  fear." 

"  But  I  do  fear,"  was  the  desponding  answer.  "  To 
my  knowledge,  no  one  else  is  going  to  build  this  sum 
mer.  Unless  there  comes  a  hurricane,  unroofing  half  a 
dozen  barns  and  houses,  I  see  no  chance  of  a  sufficiency 
of  work  during  the  season." 

Harding  said  this  with  affected  humour ;  yet  his  tones 
failed  to  conceal  the  bitterness  and  distrust  within. 

"  Not  a  good  direction  for  any  one's  thoughts  to  flow," 
said  Mr.  Long,  seriously.  "  Providence  will  open  the 
way  before  you,  I  trust,  without  the  aid  of  hurricanes,  or 
any  other  ministers  of  destruction." 

"  I  hope  so ;  but  I  see  little  to  encourage  me." 

Even  while  the  carpenter  said  this,  a  neighbouring 
farmer  entered  his  shop,  and  asked  the  question — • 

"  Are  you  very  busy  just  now,  Mr.  Harding  ?" 

"  Not  particularly  so,"  was  answered. 

"  Will  you  call  over,  and  see  me  in  the  morning  ? 
I  wish  to  talk  with  you  about  putting  a  new  roof  on  my 
barn.  I  did  think  of  trusting  it  until  next  spring,  but 


118  THE   ANGEL   OF   THE   HOUSEHOLD. 


I've  been  examining  it  rather  closely  to-day,  and  don't 
think  it  will  be  safe  to  run  the  risk,  especially  as  there  is 
every  prospect  of  large  crops  this  summer.  In  fact,  I've 
decided  to  have  a  new  roof.  So,  if  you'll  call  over  to 
morrow  morning,  wo  will  arrange  to  have  it  done." 

Harding  promised  to  see  the  farmer  bright  and  early 
on  the  next  morning.  Receiving  this  assurance,  the 
latter  departed.  The  schoolmaster  had  remained  during 
this  brief  interview,  and  when  the  farmer  left,  remarked, 
with  a  smile — 

"It  is  true  as  I  said,  neighbour  Harding.  Provi 
dence  never  hedges  up  a  man's  way  in  one  direction, 
without  opening  it  in  another." 

11 13 ut  what's  the  use  of  it  all?"  replied  the  carpenter. 
"  I  would  call  this  kind  of  business  mere  child's  play. 
Smith's  money  is  just  as  good  as  Jones's,  and  will  buy 
as  much  pork  and  corn  meal.  And  as  for  the  work,  one 
job  is  about  as  easy  as  another." 

11  Did  it  never  occur  to  you,"  said  Mr.  Long,  "  that  in 
the  dealings  of  Providence  with  men,  something  beyond 
the  provision  of  mere  food  and  raiment  was  involved. 
Have  your  thoughts  never  reached  beyond  the  question 
of  pork  and  corn  meal '/" 

"I  don't  understand  you."-  The  carpenter  looked 
slightly  bewildered. 

"  -Man  has  two  lives,"  said  Mr.  Long:  " a  life  of  the 
body  and  a  life  of  the  mind.  To  one  of  these  lives  has 
been  appointed  a  comparatively  short  duration;  the 
other  is  unending." 

The  carpenter  leaned  his  head  in  an  attitude  of  atten 
tion  ;  seeing  which,  Mr.  Long  continued — 

"  God  is  an  eternal  being ;  and  it  is  plain,  from  the  fact 
that  he  has  given  to  the  spirit  of  man  an  eternal  exist 
ence,  that  ho  must  regard  the  wants  and  destiny  of  the 
spirit  as  in  every  way  of  primary  account,  when  com 
pared  with  (lie  wants  aud  destiny  of  the  body.  Let  this 


THE  AJIOEL   OP  THE   HOUSEHOLD.  119 

thought  find  a  distinct  resting-place  in  your  mind,  neigh- 
boor  Harding,  and  then  you  will  begin  to  have  some 
glimpses  of  higher  truths." 

The  schoolmaster  paused  for  some  moments,  in  order 
to  let  his  words  make  their  due  impression. 

"From  which  have  you  suffered  mo§t  in  life?"  re 
sumed  Mr.  Long.  "  From  sickness  of  the  body,  or  aiefc- 
ness  of  the  mind  ?" 

"  Sickness  of  the  mind  ?"  Harding  did  not  clearly 
apprehend  the  question ;  and  the  schoolmaster  modified 
it  thus — 

"  I  should  have  said,  from  pain  of  body,  or  pain  of 
mind  ?" 

"  I've  never  had  much  sickness/'said  Harding,  beginning 
to  have  a  dim  perception  of  the  schoolmaster's  mean! 

"  And  yet  you  have  suffered  deeply.  Mentally— or  hi 
your  spirit — you  were  in  great  pain  only  a  little  while  ago." 

"True,  very  true."  The  carpenter  spoke  partly  to 
himself  as  if  new  thoughts  were  coming  into  distinct 
perception.  "  Yes,  indeed,  I  have  suffered  pain  of  mind. 
I  always  suffer  pain  of  mind.  As  for  bodily  sufferir. 
can  bear  that ;  but  mental  suffering  drives  me,  at  times, 
almost  beside  myself." 

"IHd  you  never  think  of  this  before?"  asked  the 
schoolmaster;  "that  is,  did  you  never  separate  to  dis 
tinctly,  in  thought,  your  mind  from  your  body,  and  tee 
in  each  a  distinct  capacity  for  pleasure  and  pain  ?" 

"  Never.  And  yet  it  seems  strange  how  1  could  have 
failed  to  do  so." 

"  If  pain  of  mind  is  more  acute  than  pain  of  body," 
said  Mr.  Long,  "is  it  not  fair  to  conclude  that  the  mind, 
or  spirit,  is  capable  of  far  higher  pleasures  than  the 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  that  it  is." 

"  Let  us  take  it  for  granted — and  this  is  no  difficult 
matter— that  God,  our  Creator,  Preserver,  and  J&> 


120  THE  ANGEL   OF   THE    HOUSEHOLD. 

deemer,  is  a  Being  of  infinite  benevolence — that  love  is 
his  essential  nature :  it  will  follow  as  a  consequence, 
that  he  not  only  desires,  but  seeks  the  good  of  his  crea 
tures.  You  are  one  of  this  number;  and  one  toward 
whom  his  heart  must  be  moved  with  pity,  for  your  spirit 
has  suffered  much.  Thus  far  in  life,  you  have  known 
little  of  the  true  enjoyment  that  God  desires  for  all  the 
children  of  men.  Vainly  have  you  sought  for  pleasure 
in  sensual  delights :  they  have  proved  only  serpents  to 
sting  you.  What  a  dark,  weary  way  it  has  been  to 
you !" 

"Yes,  dark  as  Egypt  at  times/'  muttered  the  car 
penter. 

"Let  us  go  back  a  little,"  said  the  schoolmaster. 
"  It  is  plain,  that  in  the  way  you  have  been  going,  mat 
ters  have  not  improved  much.  You  are  no  happier  now 
than  you  were  six  months  ago." 

"  I  don't  know  about  that,"  answered  Harding.  "  I 
don't  know  about  that.  Maybe  you  may  think  me 
foolish,  but  I  can't  help  it.  Since  that  strange  baby 
came  into  our  family,  I  have  felt  like  another  man.  I 
don't  know  how  it  is,  but  the  dear  little  thing  has  crept 
right  into  my  heart,  and  brought  with  it  something  of 
its  pure  and  gentle  nature.  The  truth  is,  Mr.  Long, 
I'm  not  the  same  man  I  was  before  Heaven  sent  that 
child  to  my  door." 

"  Heaven  sent  it.  You  have  used  the  right  words, 
neighbour  Harding.  All  good  gifts  are  from  Heaven 
In  love  to  you,  God  bestowed  this  blessing ;  not  to  give 
ease,  or  comfort,  or  pleasure  to  your  body,  but  for  the 
health  and  joy  of  your  spirit.  Ah  !  I  am  glad  to  hear 
this  confession  from  your  lips.  And  now  let  me  suggest 
a  thought.  May  not  the  disappointment  you  have  suf 
fered  to-day,  and  which  was  for  a  time  so  bitter,  be  pro 
ductive  of  higher  benefits  than  any  you  could  have  re 
ceived,  had  all  things  gone  according  to  your  wishes  ?" 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD.       121 

tl  I  do  not  see  your  meaning  clearly,"  said  the  car 
penter. 

"  Our  present  conversation  would  otherwise  hardl}' 
have  occurred/'  suggested  Mr.  Long. 

"  No ;  I  think  not." 

"  Is  it  not  clear,  then  ?     Think." 

"  Perhaps  you  are  right,"  said  Harding,  in  a  thought 
ful  manner.  "  You  have  certainly  filled  my  mind  with 
new  ideas.  Come  over  and  see  me  in  the  evening  some 
times,  won't  you  ?  I'd  like  to  talk  with  you  again  of 
these  things.  They  sound  strangely — and  yet  my  mind 
assents  to  them  as  true." 

"  Nothing  is  truer,"  replied  the  schoolmaster,  "  than 
that  the  eyes  of  God  are  over  all  his  works,  and  that  he 
leadeth  his  erring  creatures  by  ways  that  they  know  not, 
ever  seeking  to  bring  them  from  the  darkness  of  natural 
evil  into  the  pure  light  of  his  truth.  And  thus  he  is 
seeking  to  lead  you,  neighbour  Harding.  Ah !  resist 
not,  but  gently  yield  yourself  to  the  divine  guidance. 
But  I  have  said  enough  for  the  present.  Yes,  I  will  call 
over  and  see  you,  and  if  you  still  find  interest  in  these 
subjects,  we  will  talk  of  them  again." 

What  a  change  had  taken  place  with  the  carpenter  in 
the  brief  space  of  half  an  hour ! — a  change  from  deep 
agitation  of  mind,  and  a  paralyzing  distrust,  to  a  calm 
and  hopeful  spirit.  Not  to  the  fact  of  work  having  come 
from  an  unexpected  quarter,  was  this  chiefly  to  be  as 
cribed.  That  was  but  the  foundation,  so  to  speak,  on 
which  a  higher  and  juster  conception  of  Providence  had 
been  erected.  His  step  was  firmer,  his  head  more  ele 
vated,  and  his  countenance  marred  by  fewer  lines  of 
care,  as  h£  took  his  way  homeward.  No  shadow  fell 
across  the  threshold  as  he  entered ;  and  no  heart  shrunk 
with  fear  at  the  sound  of  his  voice,  that  seemed  to  have 
found  new  tones  and  gentle  modulations. 
11 


122  THE   ANGEL   OF   THE    HOUSEHOLD. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE  schoolmaster's  words,  only  dimly  apprehended  at 
first,  lingered  in  the  mind  of  Harding ;  and,  as  he  pon 
dered  them,  new  suggestions  came,  and  new  light  seemed 
to  break  in  upon  him.  There  was  a  higher  and  better 
life  than  the  life  of  the  body — wants  that  no  natural 
sources  could  supply — sufferings  that  no  earthly  phy 
sician  could  alleviate.  How  clear  all  this  became  the 
longer  his  mind  rested  on  what  his  neighbour  had  said ! 
and  he  half  wondered  that,  until  now,  no  perception  of 
such  important  truths  had  come  to  him. 

Happily,  all  things  at  home  harmonized  with  the  car 
penter's  state  of  mind  on  that  evening.  Andrew  he 
found,  on  his  return,  busy  over  his  lesson;  Lucy  had 
dear  little  Grace  in  her  arms;  and  Lotty  and  Philip, 
who  rarely  disagreed  if  no  one  interfered  with  them, 
were  playing  together,  and  singing  to  themselves  as  hap 
pily  as  if  nothing  had  ever  ruffled  the  quiet  surface  of 
their  feelings.  The  influence  of  Mr.  Long  over  Andrew, 
since  his  particular  interest  in  him  had  been  awakened, 
and  since  he  had  discovered  the  right  avenue  by  which 
to  reach  his  feelings,  was  remarkable.  Having  secured 
the  good  opinion  of  Mr.  Long — to  have  the  good  opinion 
of  any  one  was  a  new  experience  for  the  lad — Andrew 
was  particularly  desirous  to  retain  it.  A  kind  look — an 
approving  word — what  ample  rewards  were  they  for  all 
effort  and  self-denial !  In  these  he  found  a  pleasure  far 
above  any  thing  that  evil  indulgence  or  wrong-doing 
gave;  and,  best  of  all,  they  left  no  sad,  painful  after- 
consequences. 

11  That's    right,    Andrew/'    said    Mr.  Harding,    ap- 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD.       123 

provingly,  as  he  came  in  and  saw  how  the  boy  was 
occupied.  "  It  gives  me  real  pleasure  to  see  you  study 
ing  your  lessons." 

What  a  glow  of  delight  did  these  words  send  to  the 
heart  of  the  boy  !  What  a  beaming  smile  irradiated  his 
countenance,  as  he  looked  up,  gratefully,  into  his  father's 
face  ! 

Mr.  Harding  laid  his  hand  gently  upon  Andrew's 
head.  The  act  was  involuntary,  and  sprung  from  a 
passing  mood  of  gentler  feeling.  How  the  touch 
thrilled  along  every  nerve  in  the  child's  being !  Memory 
was  at  fault  in  her  efforts  to  recall  the  time  when  that 
hand  rested  upon  him  in  affectionate  approval  before. 
Lower  bent  his  head,  and  closer  to  his  face  was  the  book 
lifted.  None  saw  that  his  eyes  were  suddenly  dimmed, 
and  none  but  he  knew  that  the  page  before  him  was 
wetted  by  a  tear. 

A  cry  of  pleasure  from  the  babe  now  greeted  the  ears 
of  Harding  j  and,  in  the  next  moment,  Grace  was  in  his 
arms,  and  hugged  tightly  to  his  heart.  At  this  instant, 
a  shadow  fell  across  the  threshold — the  twilight  was 
already  gathering — and  the  strange  woman,  who  had 
visited  them  a  few  weeks  previously,  stood  in  the  door. 
Her  dark,  keen  eyes  took  in  the  whole  scene  presented 
to  her  at  a  glance. 

"  Q-ood  evening,  friends,"  she  said,  half  familiarly, 
half  respectfully ;  and,  without  invitation,  she  entered. 

"  Good  evening,  madam,"  returned  Harding,  ap 
proaching  her  by  a  step  or  two.  Grace  had  laid  her 
head  close  against  his  breast,  and  was  nestling  there  with 
a  happy,  confiding  look  on  her  sweet  young  face. 

"  Will  you  take  a  chair,  madam  ?" 

The  chair  was  proffered  and  accepted.  At  the  same 
time,  the  woman  laid  off  her  bonnet. 

"  You  were  so  kind  at  my  last  visit,  that  I  hardly  feel 
like  a  stranger,"  said  she,  as  she  adjusted  her  cap,  and 


124  THE   ANGEL   OF   THE   HOUSEHOLD. 


pushed  back  under  it  a  portion  of  her  black  hair,  in 
which  gray  lines  were  visible. 

u  That  dear  babe,  again,"  she  added,  as  she  fixed  her 
eyes  intently  on  Grace.  "  I  never  saw  a  lovelier  crea 
ture/' 

Mrs.  Harding  entered,  at  this  moment,  from  the 
kitchen,  where  she  had  been  preparing  supper.  At 
sight  of  the  woman,  she  started,  and  looked  disturbed. 

"  Good  evening,  ma'am." 

The  stranger  fixed  her  eyes  penetratingly  upon  her. 

"  Good  evening,"  was  coldly  replied. 

"  In  passing  this  way  again,  I  could  not  resist  the  in 
clination  to  call,  if  for  no  other  reason  than  to  thank  you 
for  your  former  kindness,  and  -to  apologize  for  my  abrupt 
departure.  It  was  necessary  for  me  to  be  at  Beechwood 
at  a  very  early  hour,  and  I  did  not  wish  to  disturb  you, 
or  tax  your  hospitality  for  an  early  breakfast." 

The  blandness  and  easy  self-possession  with  which  this 
was  said,  in  a  measure  overcame  the  instinctive  repug 
nance  of  Mrs.  Harding.  Still,  she  did  not  like  the 
woman,  and  felt  ill  at  ease  in  her  presence.  With  as 
good  a  grace  as  possible,  she  bade  her  welcome.  From 
the  woman's  manner,  it  was  evidently  her  intention  to 
remain  to  supper,  and,  in  all  probability,  through  the 
night.  Indeed,  she  soon  intimated  this  to  the  carpenter 
and  his  wife,  who  could  do  no  less  than  invite  her  to 
remain  with  as  much  show  of  cordiality  as  possible. 
The  object  of  her  visit  was  matter  of  little  question  to 
them.  Too  distinct  was  their  remembrance  of  her  con 
duct  on  a  previous  occasion — and  of  the  intimations  then 
given  by  her — to  leave  any  room  to  doubt  that  she  had 
a  personal  interest  in  Grace,  and  now  came  solely  on 
this  account. 

All  eye  and  all  ear  was  the  stranger  to  every  thing 
that  passed  in  the  family  of  Jacob  Harding.  The  car 
penter's  face  she  scanned  with  so  close  a  scrutiny,  that 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD.       125 

he  often  found  his  eyes  drooping  beneath  the  singular 
gaze  that  was  fixed  upon  him.  The  movements  of  Mrs. 
Harding  were  also  closely  observed,  and  not  a  word 
passed  between  the  children  that  she  did  not  weigh  its 
meaning. 

Whether  it  were  from  the  presence  of  this  dignified 
stranger,  or  from  the  subduing  effects  of  better  states  of 
mind,  the  children  were  unusually  well-behaved  and 
orderly  during  supper-time.  Lucy  proposed  to  wait  and 
be  the  nurse  of  Grace  during  the  meal;  although  her 
mother  said  that  she  could  hold  the  babe  and  attend  the 
table  well  enough. 

After  supper,  the  woman  succeeded,  after  many  inef 
fectual  attempts,  in  alluring  Grace  from  Mr.  Harding. 
The  little  one  looked  half  frightened  as  she  passed  to  the 
arms  of  the  stranger,  and  then  immediately  reached  out 
her  hands  to  go  back.  But,  being  retained,  her  lips 
began  to  curve,  and  a  low  murmur  of  fear  was  audible. 

"  Come  back,  then,  darling !"  said  the  carpenter, 
lovingly ;  and  he  took  her  from  the  woman  almost  by 
force.  What  a  happy  change  was  seen  instantly  in  the 
sweet  young  face,  and  with  what  a  manifest  joy  did  the 
little  one  shrink  to  the  manly  breast,  and  cling  there  as 
if  it  had  found  a  home  of  safety  ! 

"  You  love  that  child  ?"  said  the  woman.  Her  tones 
were  grave,  and  her  proud  lips  firm. 

"  Yes;  better  than  any  thing  in  this  world." 

"  It  is  not  your  own  child  ?"  added  the  woman. 

"  It  is  mine  by  the  gift  of  God,"  said  the  carpenter, 
with  a  depth  of  feeling  in  his  voice  that  surprised  his 
auditor.  "  Some  one — I  do  not  think  she  is  worthy  the 
name  of  woman — deserted  it  at  our  door." 

The  woman  moved  uneasily,  and  partly  averted  her 
face. 

"  Abandoned,"  continued  the  carpenter,  "  by  her  to 
whom  God  had  given  a  precious  gift,  the  guardianship 
11* 


126       THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD. 

was  transferred  to  us.  We  have  accepted  it  gladly — 
thankfully.  And  who  will  now  dare  say  the  child  is  not 
ours  ?  Such  words  must  not  be  spoken  here  I" 

The  natural  warmth  of  Harding's  temperament  be 
trayed  him  into  an  indignant  vehemence,  which  caused 
the  woman  to  shrink  back  from  him  a  little  way,  and  to 
look  surprised,  almost  fearful. 

"  We  cannot  hear  such  words  spoken,"  repeated  the 
carpenter,  in  a  gentler  voice.  "God  sent  an  angel  to 
our  household  when  he  sent  this  babe;  and  we  have 
made  room  for  her — room  for  her  in  our  home,  and  room 
for  her  in  our  hearts." 

The  woman  sat  for  some  time  with  her  eyes  upon  the 
floor.  She  was  evidently  in  deep  thought. 

"  Rather  say" — thus  she  spoke  in  a  low  voice — "  that 
God  lent  her  to  you — lent  her,  it  may  be,  only  for  a  little 
while.  It  is  not  well  to  fix  the  heart  too  idolizingly 
upon  a  child.  What  if  her  real  mother  were  to  come 
and  claim  her  at  your  hands  ?" 

11  There  is  her  true  mother,"  said  the  carpenter, 
firmly,  and  he  pointed  toward  his  wife.  "  A  woman 
gave  her  life,  but  she  gave  her  love — a  mother's  love. 
Her  real  mother !  Madam  !  I  would  spurn  from  the 
door  the  wretch  who  dared  say  that  she  brought  into  exist 
ence  this  sweet  young  cherub,  and  then  abandoned  her 
to  perish,  or,  mayhap,  find  an  unwelcome  home  among 
strangers." 

"  Can  an  evil  tree  produce  good  fruit  ?"  asked  the 
woman,  looking  at  the  excited  carpenter  almost  sternly. 

"  It  is  said  not,"  he  replied. 

"  Could  an  evil-hearted  mother  give  birth  to  so  angelic 
a  babe  ?  Think,  Mr.  Harding." 

"  Could  a  good-hearted  woman  abandon  her  nursing 
infant?  Think,  madam." 

The  woman's  glance  cowered  beneath  the  steady  eyes 
of  the  carpenter. 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD.       127 


<(  Can  a  sweet  fountain  send  forth  bitter  waters  ?" 
The  man  spoke  half  to  himself.  "No — no — no." 

"State  the  ease  as  you  will,"  said  the  woman,  "and 
the  difficulty  is  the  same.  Here  is  a  babe  in  which 
all  goodness  seems  concentrated  —  I  cannot  believe, 
nor  can  you.  that  the  mother  who  gave  it  birth  was  all 
evil." 

"  Why  did  she  abandon  it  ?"  replied  the  carpenter. 

"  Ah  !  there  lies  the  question.     Do  you  know  ?" 

"  You  need  not  ask." 

"  She  may  not  have  acted  freely.  There  may  have 
been  an  array  of  circumstances  that  crushed  out,  for  a 
time,  her  true  life.  I  can  more  easily  believe  this,  than 
that  her  heart  was  all  evil.  The  baby  in  your  arms 
contradicts  that  assumption." 

"  Mercy !" 

This  was  the  startled  exclamation  of  Mrs.  Harding,  as 
she  arose  quickly  to  her  feet.  Her  eyes  were  fixed  on 
the  door,  which  had  swung  slowly  open.  Every  glance 
followed  her  own.  A  beautiful  young  woman,  with  face 
as  white  as  marble,  stood  there,  motionless — statue-like. 
That  face  the  carpenter's  wife  remembered  but  too  well. 
She  had  seen  it  once  before,  as  it  stood  out  on  the  back 
ground  of  darkness,  and  every  feature  was  daguerreo- 
typed  on  her  memory. 

"  Edith  !     You  here  !     What  madness  !     Go  !  go  !" 

The  woman  started  up,  and  raising  both  hands, 
motioned  her  energetically  to  be  gone. 

"  Baby  !  baby  !     Oh,  my  sweet  baby  !" 

And  the  young  creature  bounded  forward.  Ere  the 
bewildered  carpenter  had  time  to  recover  his  self-pos 
session,  she  had  lifted  Grace  from  his  arms,  and  was 
hugging  her  wildly  to  her  heart. 

"  Oh  baby  !  Grace  !  Darling  !"  What  a  passionate 
tenderness  was  in  her  voice !  "  I  was  wicked,  wicked, 
wicked  to  give  you  up !  But  you  are  once  more  against 


128       THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD. 


my  heart,  and  we  will  live  or  die  together !  Baby ! 
Sweet  one  !  Oh  !  darling  !  darling  !" 

She  had  moved  about  the  room  like  one  half  crazed ; 
but  now,  as  a  shower  of  tears  fell  over  her  face,  she 
dropped  into  a  chair,  and  leaning  over  the  child,  which 
she  held  close  to  her  bosom,  she  mingled  kisses,  sobs, 
and  tears,  for  some  minutes,  in  a  very  tempest  of 
emotion. 

Meantime,  the  elder  of  the  two  women  showed  strong 
agitation,  that  was  repressed  only  by  a  vigorous  effort. 
Now  her  face  was  dark  with  struggling  passion;  and 
now  so  pale  and  ghastly,  that  it  seemed  as  if  her  very 
life's  love  were  suffering  its  final  assault.  As  soon  as 
the  first  bewildering  excitement  was  over,  she  went  up 
to  the  young  woman,  and  laying  her  hand  upon  her 
with  a  firm  grasp,  said,  in  a  tone  of  remonstrance — 

"What  madness  has  come  over  you,  Edith?  G-ive 
back  the  child,  and  come  away.  It  is  as  well  cared  for 
as  you  or  I  could  desire." 

The  other  waved  her  hand  with  an  imperative  gesture 
as  she  replied — 

"It  is  useless,  mother !  My  resolve  is  taken.  I  will 
not  part  with  my  child.  Mine  it  is — mine,  born  in  law 
ful  wedlock,  and  there  is  no  earthly  power  strong  enough 
to  drag  it  from  my  arms.  You  may  turn  from  me,  if 
you  will.  You  may  shut  up  your  heart  against  me ;  but 
mine  shall  be  open  to  my  child — my  darling,  darling 
child  !  Sweet,  sweet  baby  !" 

And  she  again  hugged  it  to  her  heart. 

"  The  fountain  is  not  dry  yet,  love,"  she  murmured, 
in  a  low,  tender  voice,  as  she  bared  her  bosom,  and  drew 
the  babe's  soft  face  against  it.  "  Drink  again — drink ! 
I  have  kept  it  open  for  this  hour — this  hour  that  my 
heart  told  me  would  come — must  come.  There — there. 
Drink,  baby — drink.  Drink,  and  G-od  bless  you  !" 

And  as  the  babe  commenced  drawing  sweet  life  from 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD.       129 


this  fountain  of  life,  the  mother's  eyes  were  lifted 
heavenward.  Her  cheeks  glowed,  and  a  thrill  of  exqui 
site  joy  trembled  along  every  fibre  c?  her  soul. 

"Father,"  she  sobbed,  "let  my  tears  and  thankful 
ness  for  this  hour  of  restoration,  obliterate  the  record 
that  darkens  one  page  of  my  life's  sad  history." 

This  scene  was  more  than  the  woman  she  called  her 
mother  could  witness  unsubdued.  Hitherto  her  impe 
rious  will  had  ruled  her  complying  child.  But  nature — 
free  nature — had  now  asserted  her  right,  and  swept  aside 
all  opposing  forces.  In  Edith's  heart,  the  mother's  love 
was  stronger  than  the  daughter's  fear. 

"  Edith,  what  am  I  to  understand  by  all  this  ?"  said 
the  woman,  speaking  with  a  resolute  calmness. 

"  That  I  am  ready  to  give  up  all  for  my  child." 

"  Give  up  me  ?" 

The  woman  held  her  breath  for  an  answer.  Edith 
did  not  reply,  but  bent  lower  over  her  babe,  and  drew  it 
closer  to  her  heart. 

"  Give  up  me  ?"  repeated  the  woman. 

"  Mother  !  As  God  liveth,  I  will  keep  this  child.  If 
you  turn  from  me — if  you  cast  me  off — well;  but,  as 
God  liveth,  I  will  keep  my  child  !l! 

For  a  little  while  the  frame  of  the  other  quivered,  as 
if  attacked  by  a  sudden  ague  fit.  Then  stepping  back  a 
pace  or  two,  she  stood  a  few  moments  irresolute.  The 
door  of  the  adjoining  room  was  partly  open.  Into  this 
she  now  passed  with  a  quick  movement.  A  struggle 
had  commenced  that  she  wished  to  sustain  all  apart  from 
observation.  Nearly  ten  minutes  elapsed  before  her  re 
appearance.  Scarcely  a  change  of  position  or  relation 
had  occurred  during  her  brief  absence.  Her  face  was 
very  calm,  her  step  deliberate,  and  her  manner  self- 
possessed,  like  one  who  has  passed  from  doubtful  ques 
tionings  to  a  certainty. 


130       THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD. 


Going  up  to  her  daughter,  she  laid  her  hand  again 
upon  her,  saying,  as  she  did  so — 

"  Edith,  my  child  !" 

The  voice  was  low,  calm,  and  even  tender. 

"  Mother !" 

It  was  the  bowed  creature's  simple  response.  She  did 
not  look  up. 

"  Edith,  I  may  have  erred — I  know  not.  If  so,  it  has 
been  for  your  sake.  Love  and  pride  have  both  been 
strong.  But  we  will  contend  no  longer.  In  the  future, 
your  own  heart  must  lead  you :  I  will  oppose  nothing." 

An  electric  thrill  seemed  suddenly  to  awaken  the  half- 
dormant  sensibilities  of  the  young  mother.  She  looked 
up  with  a  blending  of  joy  and  surprise  in  her  counte 
nance. 

11  What  do  I  hear?     Speak  the  words  again." 

"  We  will  contend  no  longer,  Edith.  In  the  future, 
your  own  heart  must  lead  you :  I  will  oppose  nothing." 

The  eyes  of  Edith  closed  as  she  leaned  her  head  back 
against  her  mother,  whose  arm  now  clasped  her.  How 
placid  was  her  pale  young  face  ! — how  soft,  and  tender, 
and  loving  the  sweet  lips  just  parting  with  a  smile  ! 

11  You  have  made  me  happy.  Can  a  mother  ask  more 
for  her  child  ?" 

It  was  all  she  said;  but  the  words  went  trembling 
down  into  the  agitated  heart  of  that  strong,  self-willed 
woman  of  the  world,  and  accomplished  their  mission. 

A  kiss — long  and  fervent — sealed  the  reconciliation 
and  new  compact. 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD.       131 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

WHILE  this  scene  was  passing,  little  Lotty  had  crept 
into  her  mother's  lap,  and  was  lying  with  her  head  close 
against  her  bosom.  Since  Grace  came  among  them, 
Lotty  had  found  a  new  pleasure.  She  never  tired  of 
being  with  the  babe,  and  the  babe  never  seemed  happier 
than  when  Lotty  was  bending  over  her,  and  talking  to 
her  in  a  language  that  only  they  understood. 

"  Is  she  going  to  take  Grace  away  from  us  ?"  she 
whispered  two  or  three  -times  to  her  mother,  as  she 
looked  on  wonderingly,  yet  with  an  instinct  of  the 
truth. 

Mrs.  Harding  did  not  reply,  for  she  could  not ;  but, 
at  each  renewal  of  the  question,  her  arm  drew,  with  an 
involuntary  pressure,  the  little  one  closer  to  her  breast. 

"  Fll  be  your  little  Grace,  mother/' 

These  words,  so  unexpected,  thrilled  a  new  chord  in 
her  heart. 

"  Grace  is  so  sweet  and  so  good,"  she  answered,  more 
from  impulse  than  thought.  The  words  were  scarcely 
uttered,  ere  she  felt  that  they  were  spoken  unwisely. 

"  I  will  try  to  be  good." 

There  was  a  pleading  softness  in  Lotty's  tones  that 
touched  the  mother's  sensibilities.  She  was  asking  for  a 
love,  deeper,  purer,  truer  than  she  had  ever  known- 
such  a  love  as  she  had  seen  given  to  another. 

"  I  will  try  to  be  good,  mother.  I  will  try  to  be  like 
Grace.  But  they  won't  take  her  away,  will  they, 
mother?" 

"  I  hope  not,  dear." 

"  If  they  do,  mother,  shan't  I  be  your  little  Grace  ?" 


132  THE   ANGEL   OF   THE   HOUSEHOLD. 

"  Yes,  if  you  will  be  good,  like  Grace/' 

"I  can't  be  good  just  like  her.  But  I'll  try,  mother. 
And  you  won't  scold  me  so,  will  you,  mother?  Talk  to 
me  sweet  and  good,  just  as  you  talk  to  Grace — won't  you, 
mother?" 

And  now  the  child's  arms  were  stealing  around  the 
neck  of  Mrs.  Harding,  and  her  eyes  were  looking  up 
into  her  face,  pleading  and  filled  with  tears. 

What  language  could  have  been  more  rebuking,  more 
softening,  more  subduing?  It  penetrated  to  the  very 
inmost  of  her  consciousness.  Her  only  answer  was  a 
strong  embrace.  How  her  heart  enlarged  toward  Lotty  ! 

"  You  will  love  me,  mother,  if  I'm  good  ?" 

The  child  was  not  satisfied  with  mere  dumb  show. 

"  Oh  yes,  my  dear  one !"  answered  Mrs.  Harding,  in  a 
voice  whose  tenderness  satisfied  the  heart  of  Lotty.  "  I 
will  love  you.  Be  a  good  little  girl,  and  I  will  love  you 
just  as  well  as  I  love  Grace." 

t(  I  will  be  so  good,  mother,"  murmured  the  happy 
little  one,  as  she  hid  her  face,  and  wept  for  very  joy. 

Thus  she  was  lying,  when  the  elder  of  the  twc 
strangers,  turning  from  her  daughter,  between  whom  and 
herself  so  singular  a  reconciliation  had  taken  place,  said, 
addressing  Mr.  Harding  in  a  calm  voice — 

"  My  friend,  there  was  a  meaning  in  the  words  I 
spoke  a  little  while  ago,  that  went  beyond  my  own 
thoughts.  This  young  woman — the  mother  of  Grace — 
is  my  child.  I  did  not  expect  her  here  this  evening — 
nothing  could  have  been  farther  from  my  anticipations. 
I  knew  that  she  was  almost  dying  to  see  her  child — to 
have  it  again  in  her  arms,  and  I  feared  that  its  restora 
tion  might  become  necessary.  Why  she  abandoned  it  at 
your  door,  cannot  now  be  explained ;  neither  can  we  re 
veal  who  we  are,  or  where  we  came  from.  That  secret, 
for  the  present,  must  remain  with  ourselves.  Enough, 
that  the  child  is  ours,  and  now  returns  to  its  true  home 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD.       133 


and  its  true  mother.  You  and  your  excellent  wife  will 
never  be  forgotten.  My  daughter  has  a  heart  that  can 
feel  gratitude — bad  as  you  have  pronounced  her — and 
this  you  will,  ere  long,  know.  Let  me  ask  of  you  one 
thing,  and  that  is,  silence  as  to  the  occurrences  of  this 
evening." 

The  carpenter  sat  with  his  eyes  upon  the  floor,  during 
all  the  time  that  the  woman  was  speaking. 

As  she  ceased,  he  arose,  and  crossing  the  room,  stood 
before  the  young  woman,  who  still  held  Grace  in  her 
arms. 

.Reaching  out  his  hands,  and  smiling,  he  said,  in  a 
voice  of  tender  persuasion — 

"  Come,  Grace — come,  love — come." 

The  little  one  lifted  her  head  from  the  woman's 
breast,  bent  toward  the  carpenter,  and  smiled,  in  return, 
one  of  her  sweetest,  most  loving  smiles.  The  woman  in 
stantly  drew  the  child  back,  while  a  shade  of  fear  went 
over  her  countenance. 

"  Don't  be  alarmed,  madam,"  said  the  carpenter,  in  a 
respectful  voice.  "  If  she  will  come,  let  her  come.  You 
may  take  her  again.  Grace,  darling !  Sweet  one ! 
Come !" 

Again  the  babe  raised  herself  up,  and  leaned  toward 
the  carpenter.  Again  she  smiled  sweetly,  fluttered  her 
tiny  hands,  and  seemed  anxious  to  get  into  his  arms. 
He  reached  out  for  her  ]  but  just  as  she  seemed  ready  to 
spring  to  him,  her  eyes  wandered  up  to  the  loving  face, 
so  full  of  unutterable  tenderness,  that  bent  over  her; 
and  then  she  fell  back  upon  the  bosom  she  knew  to  be 
her  mother's. 

A  shadow  darkened  on  the  carpenter's  face. 

"  Come,  darling  I"  he  repeated,  extending  his  hands. 

She  lifted  her  head  again,  stretched  out  her  arms,  and 
in  the  next  instant  was  tightly  clasped  to  the  carpenter's 
bosom. 

12 


134  THE   ANGEL   OP   THE   HOUSEHOLD. 

"  Heaven  bless  you,  sweet  one !  Bless  you !  bless 
you !  An  angel  of  love  you  have  been  to  us  all !  How 
can  we  give  you  up  ?  Oh !  no,  no !  It  must  not  be ! 
God  gave  you  to  us ;  and  shall  we  let  any  but  the  death- 
angel  take  you  away  ?" 

The  mother  had  started  to  her  feet,  and  was  now 
moving  by  the  side  of  Harding,  as  he  paced  about  the 
room,  her  face  full  of  alarm  and  anxiety. 

"  Oh,  sir !  give  me  back  my  babe  I"  she  cried,  in  a 
voice  of  deep  supplication.  "  Grace  !  Darling  !  Come 
to  your  mother  !" 

Harding  paused,  and,  by  an  effort,  repressed  the 
strong  upheaving  of  emotion.  As  he  relaxed  the  tight 
clasp  of  his  arms,  the  little  one  raised  her  head,  and  now 
reached  out  her  hands  toward  her  mother. 

"  Go  back,  then,"  he  said,  kissing  her  tenderly.  "  Go 
back.  I  cannot  say  nay,  if  it  is  in  both  your  hearts." 

As  Grace  returned,  with  a  baby  murmur  of  joy,  to  her 
mother's  arms,  the  carpenter's  strength  seemed  to  leave 
him,  and  he  sunk  into  a  chair,  where  for  some  time  he 
remained,  with  his  head  drooped  upon  his  breast.  From 
this  state  he  was  aroused  by  hearing  the  elder  of  the  two 
women  say,  addressing  her  daughter — 

"  You  came  in  the  carriage  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  How  far  is  it  away  ?" 

"About  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  on  the  road  to  Beech- 
wood." 

"  It  is  growing  late.     We  must  leave  here." 

"  You  will  not  leave  to-night  ?"  said  Harding,  as  he 
arose  and  came  forward. 

"  Oh  yes;  we  must  go,"  was  answered. 

"To  that  I  cannot  consent" — the  carpenter  spoke 
firmly — "unless  you  go  alone." 

"  Alone I" 

The  mother  of  Grace  looked  frightened. 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD.       135 


"  Yes — alone.  Did  you  think,  for  an  instant,  that  I 
would  stand  passive  and  see  her  taken  away  by  strangers, 
no  matter  what  their  claim  ?  If  so,  you  have  mistaken 
Jacob  Harding.  Who  are  you  ?  Where  do  you  live  ? 
These  are  questions  that  must  be  fully  answered." 

There  was  a  manly  dignity  about  the  carpenter  that, 
compelled  respect,  and  a  firmness  of  manner  that  showed 
him  to  be  entirely  in  earnest. 

The  two  women  looked  at  each  other  with  troubled 
glances. 

"  You  shall  know  all  in  good  time/'  said  the  elder. 

"Now  is  the  good  time/'  was  answered.  "Believe 
me,  when  I  say,  that  I  love  that  babe  too  well,  to  trust 
her  even  with  her  mother,  when  all  the  past  is  con 
sidered,  unless  I  know  where  to  find  that  mother.  I 
must  hold  you  both  to  a  higher  responsibility  than  your 
own  consciences." 

"  What  is  to  be  done  ?"  almost  sobbed  the  distressed 
young  woman.  "  Oh  that  I  were  once  more  at  home 
with  my  babe  !  Kind  sir" — and  she  turned  to  the  car 
penter  with  a  pleading  look — "  do  let  us  go.  I  have  the 
means  of  being  generous  to  you,  and  I  will  be  generous. 
Gratitude  for  your  kindness  to  my  child  has  already 
suggested  ample  benefits.  Oh,  sir  !  withdraw  your  opposi 
tion.  There  are  reasons  why  we  desire  to  remain  for 
the  present  unknown.  Say  that  we  may  leave,  and  I 
will  never  cease  to  ask  for  you  Heaven's  choicest 
blessings." 

"  It  cannot  be,"  said  the  carpenter,  with  unwavering 
firmness.  "  That  child  never  leaves  here  unless  I  know 
all  about  those  who  take  her  away.  Rely  upon  it, 
nothing  will  turn  me  from  this  purpose." 

The  two  women  now  communed  with  each  other, 
apart,  for  some  minutes.  The  elder  then  approached 
Harding,  and  said — 

"  My  name  is  Hartley ;  and  I  live  in  Overton." 


136  THE   ANGEL   OF   THE   HOUSEHOLD. 


There  was  an  unsteadiness  of  voice  and  eye  as  she 
spoke,  that  did  not  escape  the  carpenter's  notice. 

"  It  will  not  do,"  replied  Harding,  shaking  his  head. 

"What  will  do,  then?"  exclaimed  the  woman,  in  a 
quick,  demanding  voice. 

Her  whole  manner  changed.  The  fretted  will,  so  used 
to  reaching  its  purposes  in  spite  of  all  hinderances,  could 
tamely  brook  this  opposition  no  longer. 

Five  times  did  Jacob  Harding  pace  the  room  backward 
and  forward  before  answering.  Then  pausing  before  the 
woman,  who  had  remained  standing,  he  said — • 

"  One  thing  I  have  fully  decided." 

"What?" 

The  woman  spoke  eagerly. 

"  That  Grace  does  not  leave  here  to-night." 

"  Oh  sir,  don't  say  that !" 'cried  the  younger  of  the  two 
strangers.  Her  pale  face  blanched  whiter. 

"  I  have  said  it,  and  will  not  change,"  answered  the 
carpenter.  "  You  can  both  remain  if  you  will.  We  will 
give  you  the  best  accommodations  our  poor  abode  can 
offer.  As  for  me,  I  want  time  to  consider  this  matter. 
It  is  far  too  weighty  to  receive  a  hurried  decision.  I 
must  have  a  night's  sleep  upon  it." 

"Oh,  for  patience !"  exclaimed  the  elder  of  the 
women.  "  You  may  repent  this,  sir !  You  know  not 
whose  will  you  are  thwarting." 

"  I  confess  my  ignorance,"  said  Harding,  with  a 
shade  of  irony  in  his  voice ;  "  and  therefore  it  is  that  I 
hesitate,  and  choose  to  act  with  circumspection." 

"  We  cannot  remain  here  to-night. ,    Impossible  !" 

"  Very  well.  You  will  find  us  all  here  to-morrow,  or 
the  day  after." 

Seeing  that  Harding  was  not  to  be  moved,  the  two 
women  drew  together  in  a  distant  part  of  the  room,  and 
remained  in  whispered  conversation  for  a  long  time. 

"  My  daughter  cannot  be  induced  to  leave  her  child," 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD.       137 


said  the  mother,  as  she  left  Edith,  and  came  forward  to 
where  Harding  was  now  seated  by  his  wife.  "  She  will, 
therefore,  remain,  at  least,  until  to-morrow.  Then,  I 
trust,  you  will  permit  her  to  depart  with  her  babe. 
Further  hinderance  on  your  part  will  be  cruelty.  Think 
of  what  she  has  already  suffered,  and  spare  her  further 
anguish.  As  for  me,  I  will  go  to-night." 

"  You  are  welcome  to  stay,  if  it  so  please  you,"  re 
turned  the  carpenter. 

"  My  daughter's  health  has  been  feeble  for  some 
time,"  said  the  woman,  t(  and  she  is  now  quite  overcome 
by  fatigue  and  excitement.  If  you  will  let  her  retire 
early,  she  will  take  it  as  a  kindness." 

Mrs.  Harding  arose  at  this  time,  and  laying  the  now 
sleeping  Lotty  in  her  father's  arms,  passed  from  the 
room.  In  a  few  minutes  she  returned,  and  said  the 
chamber  was  ready,  if  the  lady  wished  to  retire.  The 
mother  and  her  daughter  went  in  together,  and  shut  the 
door  behind  them.  Mrs.  Harding  intended  to  enter 
the  room  also,  but  the  door  closed  so  quickly,  that  she 
was  left  without.  For  a  moment  or  two  she  stood  con 
fused  and  undecided.  Then  turning  to  her  husband, 
she  said — 

"Jacob,  what  is  to  be  done?  How  can  we  give  her 
up  ?" 

"  We  will  not,  unless  we  know  more  of  these  persons 
than  wo  now  do,"  replied  Harding. 

"  It  is  her  mother,"  said  Mrs.  Harding. 

"  Yes ;  that  is  plain.     But  who  and  what  is  she  ?" 

"  If  we  only  knew." 

"  We  must  know."  Harding  spoke  firmly.  "  Not 
until  I  have  the  fullest  intelligence  in  regard  to  them, 
will  I  consent  to  let  them  have  the  child.  Hark !  what 
is  that  ?" 

The  carpenter  listened. 

"  What  do  you  hear  ?" 

12* 


138  THE   ANGEL    OF   THE    HOUSEHOLD. 


Mrs.  Harding  was  startled  by  her  husband's  manner. 

"  I  thought  I  heard  a  noise." 

"  What  was  it  like  ?" 

"  I  don't  know." 

Both  listened  for  some  moments. 

"  Where  was  it  ?" 

<(  I  can't  tell  whether  it  was  in  the  house  or  out  doors. 
It  was  nothing,  probably.  I'm  excited." 

Still  they  listened  in  a  kind  of  breathless  suspense. 

"  I  wonder  if  they  have  fastened  that  door :  they  are 
very  still,"  said  the  carpenter. 

Mrs.  Harding  stepped  lightly  to  the  door,  and  tried 
the  lock. 

"  It  is  fastened,"  she  whispered  back. 

"They  must  have  turned  the  bolt  very  silently,"  re 
marked  Harding.  "  Suppose  you  knock,  and  ask  if 
they  want  any  thing/' 

Mrs.  Harding  tapped  gently.  There  was  no  answer 
She  tapped  again,  but  louder.  Still  all  remained  silent 
within.  She  now  rattled  the  lock,  and  called  to  the  in 
mates.  The  answer  was  fruitless :  no  answer  to  her 
summons  was  returned. 

"I  don't  like  this,"  said  Harding,  starting  up,  and 
advancing  to  the  door,  against  which  he  threw  his  body 
with  a  force  that  broke  the  fastenings  within.  As  the 
door  swung  open,  his  eyes  rested  upon  the  open  window. 
In  an  instant,  all  was  comprehended.  Flinging  the 
sleeping  child  he  held  in  his  arms  upon  the  untumbled 
bed,  he  sprung  through  the  open  window,  and  disap 
peared  in  the  darkness. 

"  A  quarter  of  a  mile  from  here,  on  the  road  to  Beech- 
wood."  He  remembered  these  words,  and  ran  swiftly  in 
that  direction,  hoping  to  overtake  the  fugitives.  The 
sky  was  overclouded,  and  the  night  intensely  dark.  In 
vain  the  eye  sought  to  penetrate  the  thick  vail  of  sha 
dows.  For  more  than  half  a  mile,  Harding  pursued  his 


THE  ANGEL  OP  THE  HOUSEHOLD.       139 

way  toward  Beechwood,  and  then  stopped,  with  a  heart- 
sickeuing  consciousness  that  longer  search  in  that  direc 
tion  was  hopeless,  lleturning  with  rapid  steps,  he  swept 
around  in  a  wide  circle,  vainly  seeking  for  the  two 
women  who  had  disappeared  so  noiselessly,  taking  with 
them  the  dear  angel  of  the  household.  But  all  was  of  no 
avail.  Under  cover  of  the  darkness,  they  had  effected 
their  escape.  After  an  hour  spent  in  fruitless  search, 
he  came  back,  looking  pale  and  distressed.  To  the  eager 
questionings  of  his  tearful  wife,  he  only  answered — 

"  Gone  !  gone  !  and  not  a  trace  of  them  left  behind !" 
dropping  into  a  chair  as  he  spoke,  and  trembling  from 
exhaustion  of  body  and  mind. 

"  Oh,  Jacob  !  Jacob  I"  It  was  all  the  heart-stricken 
wife  could  say,  as  she  leaned  over  him,  and  wept  bitterly. 

"  Mary,"  said  the  carpenter,  after  he  had  grown 
calmer,  "  I  have  never  had  any  thing  to  hurt  me  like 
this.  It  seems  almost  as  if  a  hand  were  grasping  my 
heart,  and  striving  to  tear  it  from  my  breast.  Dear 
baby  !  And  to  lose  her  thus  !  I  cannot  bear  it,  Mary  !" 

"  If  we  only  knew  where  she  was ,  if  we  could  go  to 
her  sometimes/'  sobbed  Mrs.  Harding. 

"  If  she  had  died  and  passed  up  into  heaven,"  said  the 
carpenter.  "But  to  be  stolen  from  us,  and  taken,  we 
know  not  where,  perhaps  to  be  abandoned  again,  and  to 
suffer,  who  can  tell,  what  cruel  treatment !  Oh  !  the 
thought  drives  me  half  distracted." 

"  I  do  not  think,  Jacob,  that  her  mother  will  part 
with  her  again.  She  loves  her  child  too  deeply.  My 
heart  ached,  as  I  looked  at  her,  to  think  of  what  she 
must  have  borne  since  she  tore  it  from  her  bosom,  and 
left  it  at  our  door.  I  wonder  that  she  was  not  bereft  of 
reason.  For  her  sake,  I  will  try  to  bear  the  pain  I  feel. 
Oh !  if  I  only  knew  that  all  would  be  well  with  the 
babe." 

"That  I  must  know,  Mary,"  replied  the  carpenter, 


140  THE   ANGEL   OF   THE    HOUSEHOLD. 

with  regained  firmness.  "  The  woman  said  her  name 
was  Hartley,  and  that  they  lived  at  Overton.  This  may 
be  true  or  false ;  but  to  Overton  I  will  go  early  in  the 
morning.  If  the  statement  prove  false,  so  much  is 
settled,  and  I  can  turn  with  more  confidence  my  eyes  in 
another  direction.  Of  one  thing  I  am  certain — they  do 
not  live  very  far  from  Beechwood." 

As  best  they  could,  the  carpenter  and  his  wife  sought 
to  console  each  other,  and,  in  the  act,  drew  closer  to 
gether  in  heart,  and  felt  a  mutual  sympathy.  How  de 
serted  the  house  seemed  to  them  !  and  their  chamber, 
when  they  retired  for  the  night,  felt  lonely  and  cheer 
less.  If  the  baby  had  died,  and,  a  little  while  before, 
been  carried  forth  from  that  room  to  its  mortal  resting- 
place,  the  feeling  of  sadness  and  desolation  that  op 
pressed  them  could  not  have  been  stronger.  Sleep  did 
not  visit  their  pillows  early.  They  were  kept  awake  by 
thoughts  of  the  sweet  babe  that  had  so  grown  into  their 
hearts,  that  it  seemed  a  part  of  their  life.  But,  at  last, 
their  heavy  eyelids  closed,  and  then  this  dream  came  to 
Mrs.  Harding  : — 

She  was  sitting  in  her  own  chamber,  with  an  infant 
lying  close  against  her  bosom.  It  had  soft,  brown, 
silken  hair,  curling  in  glossy  circles  about  its  forehead 
and  temples,  and  eyes  down  into  whose  blue  depths  she 
gazed  until  it  seemed  that  heaven  was  opening  to  her 
vision.  It  was  not  Grace — not  the  angel  babe  whose 
coming  and  going  were  shrouded  in  mystery — but  a  new 
gift  to  her  mother's  heart.  Full  of  love  and  joy  she 
bent  over  the  lovely  innocent,  while  her  spirit  uplifted 
itself  in  thankfulness  for  a  boon  so  precious.  As  she  sat 
thus,  a  pale,  sweet-faced  woman  entered,  also  clasping 
an  infant  in  her  arms.  She  knew  them  both  at  a 
glance — the  mother  of  Grace,  with  her  newly-regained 
treasure  in  her  arms.  Coming  up  slowly  to  Mrs.  Hard 
ing,  she  stood,  for  some  moments,  gazing  upon  her 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD.       141 


with  a  tendeBgunile.  Then  her  lips  parted  with  the 
words — 

"  Our  household  angels  !" 

A  thrill  of  such  exquisite  pleasure  went  through  the 
sleeper's  mind,  that  she  awoke.  Lotty  was  in  her  arms, 
and  she  drew  her  to  her  heart  with  a  feeling  of  maternal 
tenderness  deeper  than  she  had  ever  known  for  her 
child. 

"  I'll  be  your  little  Grace,  mother." 

The  words  seemed  spoken  in  her  ears  again,  and  she 
raised  herself  up  to  see  if  Lotty  were  not  really  waking. 
But  no :  Lotty  was  in  the  world  of  dreams. 

"Bless  you,  my  baby!"  murmured  Mrs.  Harding,  as 
she  laid  her  lips  against  the  warm  cheek  of  the  sleeper. 
"  You  shall  be  my  little  Grace." 

"  Dear  mother  !  I  will  be  good  if  you  will  love  me." 

She  was  dreaming. 

Gathering  her  little  one  closer  in  her  arms,  Mrs. 
Harding  lifted  her  voice  to  heaven,  and  prayed  that  she 
might  be  to  her  children  a  true  mother.  And  her 
prayer,  rising  from  an  earnest,  yearning  heart,  did  not 
return  to  her  fruitless. 


142  THE  ANGEL  OF   THE   HOUSEHOLD. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

"  QUICK  !"  ejaculated  the  elder  of  the  two  women,  as 
she  closed  the  door  of  the  little  chamber  into  which  the 
carpenter's  wife  had  shown  them,  and  slipped  the  bolt 
silently.  Gliding  past  her  half-bewildered  daughter,  she 
raised  the  window,  which  opened  only  a  few  feet  from 
the  ground,  and  springing  out  with  the  agility  of  a  girl, 
was  ready  to  help  Edith  through  the  narrow  way  of 
egress  they  had  chosen. 

"  Quick  !  quick  !     Step  lightly." 

And  the  mother  drew  her  arm  around  the  slender 
form  of  Edith,  and  bore  her  onward  as  if  she  had  been 
only  a  child.  Sweeping  around  the  house,  the  two  wo 
men  gained  the  road  that  passed  only  at  a  short  distance 
from  the  door,  and  then  pressed  forward,  as  fast  as  the 
darkness  would  permit,  in  the  direction  of  Beechwood. 
They  were  only  a  short  distance  away  from  the  car 
penter's  dwelling,  when  the  young  woman  said,  in  a 
voice  of  alarm — 

"Hark!     What  is  that?" 

Both  paused  to  listen,  and  instantly  became  aware,  by 
the  sound  of  swiftly  approaching  footsteps,  that  they 
were  pursued. 

"0  mother!  what  shall  we  do?"  said  Edith,  in  a 
frightened  voice. 

Her  companion  answered  not,  but  passing  an  arm 
around  her  waist,  drew  her  off  from  the  road  to  a  clump 
of  bushes  that  opportunely  offered  a  place  of  concealment. 
Behind  this  they  crouched  just  in  time  to  hide  their 
figures,  which,  from  portions  of  white  in  their  garments, 
would,  in  all  probability,  have  attracted  the  eyes  of 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD.       145 

Harding,  whom  they  doubted  not  to  be  the  individual 
approaching  with  such  hasty  speed.  He  passed  within 
only  a  few  feet  of  them — so  near,  that  his  muttered 
words  reached  their  ears. 

"  Come/'  said  the  elder  of  the  women,  as  soon  as 
Harding' s  heavy  footsteps  sounded  faint  in  the  distance. 

"Not  that  way,"  objected  her  daughter. 

"  Why  not  ?"  was  sharply  inquired. 

"  He  has  just  passed." 

"  Is  not  the  carriage  in  this  direction  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  Concealed  in  the  woods  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  He  will  not  find  it,  but  we  must.  Come  !  In  this 
deep  darkness  lies  our  safety.  Here  —  give  me  the 
child." 

"  No— no." 

And  Edith  resisted  the  attempts  of  her  mother  to  get 
possession  of  Grace. 

"  Why  don't  you  give  her  to  me  ?  Foolish  girl !  I  am 
stronger  than  you,"  said  the  woman. 

"She  is  as  light  as  a  feather  in  my  arms,"  replied 
Edith,  who  still  kept  hold  of  the  babe.  "  You  lead  the 
way,  and  I  will  follow  as  fast  as  you  desire." 

The  woman,  with  a  slight  murmur  of  impatience,  gave 
up  the  brief  contest,  and  moved  on  again  in  the  direction 
taken  by  the  carpenter,  her  daughter  following  close  in 
her  footsteps.  Stopping  every  little  while  to  listen,  and 
then  pressing  on,  the  two  fugitives  continued  their  way 
for  about  ten  minutes,  when  Edith  said — 

"  This  is  the  place,  mother.  I  told  Mark  to  wait  for 
me  in  the  woods,  off  to  the  left." 

Leaving  the  road,  the  two  women  sought  for  the  car 
riage,  but,  to  their  dismay,  it  was  nowhere  to  be  found. 

"  Are  you  certain  about  the  place,  Edith  ?" 

Edith  was  very  certain  in  the  beginning,  but  the 


144       THE  ANGEL  OP  THE  HOUSEHOLD. 

darkness  was  so  bewildering,   that  her  mind  began  to 
waver. 

"  I  think  it  was  here,  mother." 

"  0  Edith !  and  so  much  at  stake !"  exclaimed  her 
companion,  rebukingly.  "  When  will  you  learn  to 
rightly  guard  the  future  ?" 

"  The  darkness  is  so  deep,"  said  Edith. 

"  You  should  have  thought  of  that,  and  taken  a  closer 
observation.  What  are  we  to  do  ?" 

"  Mark:  !"  called  Edith. 

"  Hush !  Mad  girl !  Your  voice  may  reach  other 
ears  than  his." 

"  Listen  !"     Edith  spoke  in  a  quick,  eager  tone. 

«  What  is  that  ?" 

"  It  is  the  carriage,  thank  God  !" 

And  the  excited  young  creature  leaned  her  head 
against  her  mother,  and  sobbed  violently.  Her  voice 
had  reached  the  coachman,  who  was  only  a  short  dis 
tance  from  where  they  were  standing,  and  his  horses 
were  in  motion.  But  a  few  moments  elapsed  before  the 
two  women  were  in  the  carriage. 

"  Home,  Mark — home  !"  whispered  the  mother,  "  and 
as  swift  as  our  horses'  feet  will  take  us." 

"  It  is  very  dark,  ma'am,"  answered  the  coachman. 

"You  know  the  road,  Mark,"  was  the  brief  and  signi 
ficant  answer. 

For  a  few  minutes  the  carriage  crept  along  almost 
noiselessly,  until  the  road  was  fairly  gained ;  then,  at  a 
word  from  Mark,  the  horses  sprung  away  at  a  speed  that 
satisfied  even  the  impatient  riders. 

For  nearly  two  hours  this  speed  was  maintained,  and 
then  the  foaming  horses  were  turned  into  a  wooded  lane 
that  wound  up  to  a  fine  old  mansion,  around  which  clus 
tered  many  evidences  of  wealth,  taste,  and  aristocratic 
pride.  Into  this  the  two  women  passed,  and  here,  for 
the  present,  we  will  leave  them. 


THE  ANGEL  OP  THE  HOUSEHOLD.       145 

The  morning  that  broke  after  that  eventful  night, 
found  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Harding  in  trouble,  grief,  and  great 
perplexity  of  mind.  A  tearful  vail  was  over  their  whole 
household.  Not  one  of  the  inmates  but  grieved  after 
dear  little  Grace,  with  a  sorrow  that  knew  no  words  of 
comfort — no  ray  of  consolation.  All  questioned,  but 
there  was  none  who  could  answer. 

"  What  shall  we  do  ?" 

That  was  the  doubtful  inquiry  of  the  carpenter  and  his 
wife,  asked  often  of  each  other,  and  answered  only  by 
troubled  looks. 

"  Shall  we  at  once  make  it  known  to  the  neighbour 
hood  ?"  asked  Harding.  "  This  it  is  necessary  for  us 
speedily  to  determine.  The  child  will  be  missed,  sooner 
or  later,  when  we  shall  have  to  account  satisfactorily  for 
its  absence." 

"  Suppose  you  see  Mr.  Long,  and  ask  his  advice,'7 
said  Mrs.  Harding.  "  He  is  a  good  man,  and  discreet." 

"  Well  suggested,  Mary,"  said  the  carpenter.  "  I  will 
see  him  without  a  moment's  delay." 

But  even  the  schoolmaster  failed  to  see  the  matter 
clearly  on  its  first  presentation.  To  bruit  the  whole 
thing  abroad,  might  prove  a  serious  error ;  but,  in  what 
way,  a  total  ignorance  of  the  parties  concerned  left  alto 
gether  in  doubt.  It  was  plain  that  they  had  acted  with 
a  desperation  which  only  the  gravest  considerations  could 
justify.  The  crime  of  having  abandoned  an  infant  in 
volved  the  deepest  disgrace,  and  it  was  no  cause  of  won 
der  that  they  sought  to  escape  the  penalty.  On  the 
other  hand,  the  absence  of  the  babe  from  the  family  of 
Harding  would  not  fail  to  attract  attention,  and  the 
neighbours  would  have  a  clear  right  to  demand  an  ex 
planation  of  the  fact. 

"  What  had  we  best  do,  Mr.  Long?" 

This  was  the  earnest  question  of  Harding,  at  the  con 
clusion  of  his  conference  with  the  schoolmaster. 
13 


146       THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD. 


"  Say  nothing  to  any  one  else,  at  least  for  to-day," 
•was  the  answer.  "I  will  testify,  if  necessary,  to  the 
fact  that  you  came  to  me,  and  related  the  whole  of  the 
strange  circumstance,  and  that  I  advised  you  to  keep 
silent  for  a  day  or  two,  while  you  made  earnest  search 
for  the  parties  who  carried  off  the  child.  My  word,  I 
am  sure,  will  be  all  that  is  needed  to  screen  you  from 
suspicion  of  wrong." 

"  I  am  very  sure  of  that,  Mr.  Long,  and  will  do  as 
you  suggest,"  replied  the  carpenter.  "And  now,  my 
first  search  must  be  made  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Over- 
ton,  although  I  have  little  hope  of  finding  them  there. 
I  saw  deception  in  the  woman's  unsteady  eyes,  when  she 
mentioned  this  as  her  place  of  residence.  One  step 
brings  us  to  the  point  from  which  the  next  can  be  taken. 
I  will  regard  this  as  the  first  step  in  a  search  that  must 
not  be  fruitless." 

"  And  it  will  not  be  fruitless,  I  trust,"  said  the  school 
master,  as  Harding  turned  from  him,  and  went  back 
home  to  advise  his  wife  of  the  conclusion  to  which  he 
had  arrived,  after  consulting  with  Mr.  Long. 

Mounted  on  a  good  horse,  the  carpenter  was  soon  on 
his  way  to  Overton,  a  small  town  some  two  miles  beyond 
Beechwood.  A  widow  lady,  with  whom  he  had  some 
acquaintance,  resided  there,  and  at  her  house  he  alighted 
on  reaching  the  village.  After  the  customary  greetings, 
and  brief  questions  about  family  matters,  Harding  said — 

"  Do  you  know  a  lady,  in  Overton,  by  the  name  of 
Hartley?" 

"  Oh  yes  !  very  well,"  was  the  answer. 

"With  what  a  strong  throb  did  the  heart  of  the  car 
penter  bound  at  this  reply,  so  little  expected  ! 

"  Is  she  an  elderly  lady  ?"  he  next  inquired. 

"  She  is  past  the  middle  age :  yet  no  one  would  call 
her  old." 

«  Where  does  she  live  ?" 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD.       147 


The  woman  took  him  to  the  door,  and  pointed  to  a  fine 
old  mansion,  almost  hidden  by  majestic  elms,  that  stood 
not  far  from  her  dwelling. 

"  Has  she  a  daughter  ?" 

"  Yes ;  an  only  daughter." 

"  Grown  up  ?" 

«  Yes." 

"The  person  I  wish  to  see,"  said  the  carpenter; 
"and  as  my  business  is  somewhat  urgent,  I  must  bid 
you  good  morning." 

Turning  almost  abruptly  from  the  woman,  he  sprung 
into  his  saddle,  and  galloped  away  in  the  direction  of 
Mrs.  Hartley's,  his  mind  already  strongly  excited  in  anti 
cipation  of  an  interview,  the  termination  of  which  in 
volved  so  much,  and  was  yet  so  full  of  uncertainty. 
Passing  from  the  public  road  into  a  gravelled  lane,  lined 
on  each  side  by  tastefully  cut  cedars,  he  advanced  toward 
a  beautiful  dwelling,  around  which  was  every  thing  to  in 
dicate  the  possession  of  a  cultivated  taste  by  the  owner, 
and  wealth  for  its  gratification.  But  at  these  external 
beauties  he  scarcely  glanced.  Too  deeply  was  he  ab 
sorbed  by  thoughts  of  the  approaching  interview. 

Dismounting  and  fastening  his  horse,  Harding  ad 
vanced  to  the  hall-door,  and  lifting  the  heavy  knocker, 
brought  it  down  with  a  strong  hand.  The  sound  rever 
berated  loudly  within.  In  a  few  moments,  a  servant 
answered  his  summons. 

"Is  Mrs.  Hartley  at  home?"  asked  the  carpenter. 
The  suspense  from  which  he  was  now  suffering  made  hi3 
voice  falter. 

"  She  is,"  was  the  quiet  answer. 

"Can  I  see  her?" 

"Will  you  walk  in?"  said  the  servant,  politely. 

The  carpenter  entered,  and  was  shown  into  one  of  the 
elegantly  furnished  parlours. 

"  What  name  shall  I  say  ?" 


148  THE  ANGEL   OF   THE   HOUSEHOLD. 


Harding  was  about  to  give  a  wrong  name,  but  his 
quickened  moral  sense  instantly  objected,  and  he  said — 

"  No  matter.    Say  that  I  wish  particularly  to  see  her." 

The  servant  hesitated  for  a  few  moments,  and  then  left 
the  apartment.  Soon  the  rustle  of  a  lady's  garments  was 
heard  on  the  stairs.  Harding  arose  to  his  feet,  involun 
tarily,  and  stood  almost  holding  his  breath.  A  tall,  dig 
nified,  middle-aged  woman,  with  a  mild  countenance, 
presented  herself.  It  was  not  her  of  whom  the  excited 
man  was  in  search.  The  lady  bowed,  as  she  entered, 
and  said — 

"  My  name  is  Mrs.  Hartley/7 

'  Not  the  Mrs.  Hartley  I  wish  to  see,"  replied  the  car 
penter,  in  a  tone  that  betrayed  the  depth  of  his  disap 
pointment. 

"  I  know  no  other  by  my  name,"  the  lady  answered. 
"  You  seem  to  be  under  some  mistake,  sir.  Perhaps,  if 
you  explain  yourself,  I  may  be  able  to  set  you  right. 
Will  you  not  be  seated  ?" 

As  Harding  resumed  his  chair,  he  said — 

"A  woman  was  at  my  house  last  night — it  is  the 
second  time  she  has  called  there — who  told  me  that  she 
lived  in  Overton,  and  that  her  name  was  Mrs.  Hartley." 

"Ah!"  The  lady  was  surprised.  "What  kind  of  a 
looking  woman  was  she  ?" 

"In  person,  near  your  size,  and,  to  all  appearance, 
near  your  age." 

The  lady's  face  flushed. 

"  Near  my  size  and  age  ?" 

"  Yes,"  ma'am ;  but,  in  countenance,  you  bear  no  re 
semblance,"  said  the  carpenter. 

"  And  she  said  her  name  was  Hartley,  and  that  she 
resided  at  Overton  ?" 

"  She  did ;  but  I  questioned,  in  my  own  mind,  her 
truthfulness  at  the  time.  Ah  !  how  cruelly  have  I  been 
deceived  1" 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD.       149 

t(  Deceived  !     In  what  way,  sir  ?"  asked  the  lady. 

"  Pardon  me,"  said  the  carpenter,  "  if  I  decline  an  ex 
planation  :  the  reasons  are  imperative/' 

"  You  are  the  best  judge  of  that.  And  yet,  as  my 
name  has  been  used  in  so  strange  a  manner,  it  seems 
only  right  that  I  should  be  made  acquainted,  at  least  in 
some  degree,  with  the  occasion  of  such  an  unwarrantable 
liberty.  Can  you  describe  the  woman  to  me  ?" 

Harding  gave  as  accurate  a  description  as  possible  of 
the  person  of  whom  he  was  in  search. 

"  Did  you  observe  a  mole  on  her  right  cheek  ?"  asked 
the  lady. 

"  Oh  yes,  madam  !  I  remember  that  distinctly,"  said 
the  carpenter,  starting  to  his  feet.  "  Tell  me  !  Do  you 
know  her  ?" 

"  And  she  said  her  name  was  Hartley  ?" 

«  Yes." 

"  And  that  she  lived  at  Overton  ?" 

"  Her  words,  as  my  visit  here  attests." 

"  A  very  singular  statement,"  said  the  lady. 

"  Oh,  madam  !  tell  me  if  you  know  her  :  do  not  keep 
me  in  suspense,"  urged  the  carpenter,  growing  more 
excited. 

"  I  cannot  imagine  the  reason  of  such  singular  con 
duct."  The  lady  spoke  to  herself.  "  Grave  her  name  as 
Mrs.  Hartley !  What  does  it  mean  ?  There  is  some 
mystery  here,"  she  added,  addressing  the  carpenter  j 
tl  and  as  my  name  has  become  connected  with  it,  I  have 
a  right  to  ask  for  explanation.  For  what  purpose  did 
this  woman  come  to  your  house  ?" 

"  From  the  description  I  have  given,  do  you  identify 
her?"  asked  Harding. 

"  I  do,  clearly." 

The  carpenter  struck  his  hands  together,  exclaiming — 

"  So  inuclr  gained  !    so  much  gained  !     Oh;  madam  ! 
tell  me  where  I  can  find  her !" 
13* 


150       THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD. 


"  Not  unless  I  know  why  you  are  in  search  of  her.  If 
you  will  not  trust  me,  neither  will  I  trust  you/'  replied 
the  lady,  firmly. 

Deeply  perplexed  was  the  carpenter  again.  He  saw 
that  the  woman  was  right ;  and  yet  he  was  as  much  in 
doubt  respecting  her,  as  she  was  respecting  him.  It  was 
plain  that  she  knew  the  persons  who  had  carried  off  the 
child ;  but  what  good  or  evil  might  flow  from  a  revela 
tion  of  the  strange  facts  connected  with  them,  she  was 
unable  to  divine. 

"  Does  she  live  in  Overton  ?"  he  asked,  hoping  to  gain 
some  admission. 

"I  shall  communicate  nothing,"  said  Mrs.  Hartley, 
"  unless  I  know  the  ground  of  your  inquiries.  If,  as  I 
said  before,  you  will  not  trust  me,  I  will  not  trust  you." 

"  We  never  know  how  far  it  is  safe  to  trust  an  entire 
stranger,"  remarked  Harding. 

"  Very  true ;  and  that  ia  my  reason  for  not  giving  in 
formation  to  a  stranger,  of  whose  object  I  am  entirely 
ignorant." 

tl  Will  you  answer  me  these  questions  ?"  The  carpenter 
spoke  in  an  anxious  tone.  "  Is  the  lady  in  good  social 
standing  ?  And  is  she  known  as  virtuous  and  honour 
able  r 

"  I  can  answer  you  freely.  She  is  in  good  standing, 
and  I  have  never  heard  any  thing  against  her  of  so  grave 
a  nature  as  this  that  you  now  allege — the  assumption  of 
rny  name.  This,  sir,  is  a  most  serious  allegation.  The 
wherefore  must  involve  something  more  serious  still." 

"  That  it  certainly  drfes,"  said  the  carpenter.  "  And 
this  being  so,  it  is  but  just  toward  her  that  I  should 
keep  my  own  counsel  until  I  see  her  face  to  face.  That 
she  desires  secrecy,  is  apparent  in  the  fact,  that  she  has 
misled  me  by  assuming  a  name  that  belongs  to  another. 
Ah,  madam !  if  you  would  only  give  nnPthe  informa 
tion  I  seek !" 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD.       151 

The  lady  mused  for  some  time;  then,  shaking  her 
head,  she  answered — 

"  I  cannot  meet  your  wishes." 

Harding  sighed  deeply.  Rising,  he  moved  toward  the 
door  of  the  apartment,  his  face,  strongly  marked  by  dis 
appointment. 

"  May  I  ask  your  address  ?"  said  Mrs.  Hartley. 

It  was  given  without  hesitation. 

"  Your  errand  here  this  morning  is  a  very  singular 
one,  Mr.  Harding,"  remarked  the  lady,  evidently  unwill 
ing  to  have  him  depart,  without  some  disclosure  of  facts 
about  which  her  curiosity  was  in  no  small  degree  excited. 
"  Is  it  not  possible  for  us  so  far  to  trust  each  other,  as  to 
impart  the  information  each  desires  ?" 

"Not  at  present,  I  fear/'  answered  the  carpenter. 
"  Too  many  grave  considerations  force  themselves  upon 
my  mind,  and  enjoin  circumspection.  But  of  one  thing 
I  can  assure  you :  I  shall  not  long  remain  in  this  sus 
pense.  Should  the  search  of  to-day  not  prove  successful, 
you  will  see  me  in  the  morning — perhaps  this  evening, 
when,  to  gain  the  information  I  desire,  I  will  disclose 
what  now  discretion  warns  me  to  conceal." 

Bowing  to  the  lady,  who  made  no  further  effort  to  de 
tain  him,  Harding  withdrew,  and,  mounting  his  horse, 
rode  off  at  a  quick  pace.  It  was  not  his  purpose,  now, 
to  make  further  search  in  this  direction.  First,  he 
wished  to  consult  with  Mr.  Long,  and  get  his  advice  as 
to  the  propriety  of  disclosing  to  Mrs.  Hartley  the  facts  of 
the  previous  evening,  in  order  to  get  the  information  so 
much  desired.  And  so,  turning  his  horse's  head  home 
ward,  he  pressed  the  animal  to  his  utmost  speed. 


152       THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

IMMEDIATELY  on  his  return  from  Overton,  the  car 
penter  went  to  see  Mr.  Long. 

"  One  step  taken  in  the  right  direction,"  said  the 
schoolmaster,  after  Harding  had  finished  his  narration 
of  what  passed  between  him  and  Mrs.  Hartley. 

"  But  what  of  the  next  ?"  asked  Harding.  "  That  is 
the  question  I  am  unable  to  answer.  A  wrong  step  may 
involve  most  serious  consequences.  The  parties  in  this 
strange  and  disgraceful  business  evidently  occupy  a  high 
social  position,  and  are  exceedingly  anxious  to  remain 
unknown.  If  I  reveal  all  to  Mrs.  Hartley,  in  order  to 
gain  the  information  I  seek,  it  may  be  the  cause  of  an 
irreparable  injury.  The  mother  of  Grace  has,  it  is 
plain,  acted  under  an  influence  from  her  imperious 
mother  that  she  was  unable  to  resist;  and  the  latter, 
moved  by  family  pride,  or  some  other  strong  considera 
tion,  has  taken  an  extreme  step,  the  knowledge  of  which, 
if  it  get  on  the  wings  of  common  report,  must  ruin  her 
in  the  good  opinion  of  every  one." 

"It  is  but  just,"  remarked  the  schoolmaster,  "to 
weigh  every  thing  with  the  nicest  care,  where  so  much 
is  involved.  I  think  you  were  altogether  right  in  with 
holding  from  Mrs.  Hartley  the  information  she  asked, 
and  I  cannot  blame  her  for  being  equally  discreet." 

"  But  what  step  can  next  be  taken  ?  I  have  not  a 
single  clue  by  which  to  trace  out  the  fugitives.  They 
escaped  in  the  darkness,  and  left  no  sign  of  their  de 
parture." 

"  Did  not  the  young  woman  say  something  about  her 
carriage  being  near  at  hand,  on  the  road  to  Beech  wood  T' 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD.       153 

"  Yes.     She  said  it  was  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away." 

"It  might  be  worth  your  while/'  said  the  school 
master,  "  to  examine  the  ground,  a  little  off  from  the 
road,  and  see  if  you  can  find  the  mark  of  wheels.  The 
carriage,  most  probably,  was  withdrawn  from  the  public 
way,  in  order  to  escape  observation." 

"  Of  what  use  will  it  be  ?"  said  the  carpenter. 

"  Possibly,  the  direction  taken  may  be  ascertained." 

Harding  shook  his  head  doubtfully. 

"  Very  small  indications  are  sufficient  often  to  lead  to 
important  results,"  remarked  the  schoolmaster.  "  When 
we  are  altogether  in  the  dark,  we  accept  the  feeblest  ray, 
and  hail  it  gladly,  as  the  harbinger  of  approaching  light. 
But  some  other  course  may  have  suggested  itself  to  your 
mind." 

Harding  shook  his  head,  saying — 

"  I  am,  to  use  your  own  words,  altogether  in  the  dark. 
Not  a  single  beam  of  light  is  on  the  way  before  me." 

"  Then  do  as  I  suggest,  my  friend." 

"I  very  seriously  doubt,"  said  the  carpenter,  "the 
the  truth  of  what  they  said  about  the  carriage  being  in 
the  direction  of  Beechwood.  I  followed  them  quickly, 
but  saw  nothing  of  either  them  or  the  carriage,  although 
I  kept  on  for  at  least  half  a  mile." 

11  The  carriage  was,  of  course,  withdrawn  from  the 
road,  and  concealed  from  view.  I  do  not  wonder  at 
your  not  seeing  it.  The  women,  most  probably,  heard 
you  coming  after  them,  and  hid  behind  some  sheltering 
object,  until  you  passed.  The  distance  you  went  gave 
them  an  opportunity  to  gain  the  vehicle,  and  make  their 
escape.  As  you  did  not  meet  the  carriage  on  returning, 
the  inference  is  plain,  that  the  direction  taken  was  not 
toward  Beechwood.  Now,  if  you  can  only  find  where  it 
turned  off  from  the  road,  and  can  thence  follow  the 
wheel-marks  to  the  place  of  concealment,  you  may  be 
able  to  trace  them  still  farther,  and  thus  determine,  with 


154       THE  ANGEL  OP  THE  HOUSEHOLD. 

more  or  less  certainty,  the  course  taken.  It  will  be 
something  gained,  to  know  that  they  did  or  did  not  gc 
toward  Beechwood." 

"  I  will  act  at  once  upon  your  suggestion/'  said  the 
carpenter.  "  No  time  is  to  be  lost." 

Just  about  the  place  which  had  been  indicated,  Hard 
ing  found  the  deep  impression  of  wheels  in  the  soft  turf, 
turning  off  abruptly  from  the  beaten  road.  Following 
these,  he  discovered  the  spot  where  a  carriage  had  been 
standing  for  some  time,  as  was  clear  from  the  hoof-marks 
on  the  ground.  It  was  behind  a  clump  of  trees.  Be 
yond  this,  he  could  follow  the  tracks,  until  they  were 
again  lost  in  the  road.  One  thing  he  was  able  to  deter 
mine  clearly :  the  carriage  neither  came  from  nor  re 
turned  toward  Beechwood.  Between  the  place  at  which 
it  had  been  stationed  and  the  little  settlement  where  the 
carpenter  lived,  a  road  leading  to  the  town  of  Clifton 
branched  off.  He  tried  to  follow  the  wheel-marks  in  the 
road,  in  order  to  be  sure  that  the  vehicle  actually  went 
toward  Clifton;  but  the  hard,'  beaten  surface,  and  the 
mingling  of  other  wheel-tracks,  made  this  impossible. 

It  was  now  midday,  and  Harding  returned  home,  in 
tending,  immediately  after  dinner,  to  start  for  Clifton, 
and  devote  -the  remainder  of  the  day  to  searches  in  that 
direction.  He  found  his  wife  waiting  him  in  troubled 
suspense.  A  few  words  sufficed  to  give  her  the  meager 
result  of  his  efforts  to  discover  their  visitors  of  the  pre 
vious  evening.  Her  sad  face  and  red  eyes  told  but  too 
plainly  how  she  had  spent  the  hours  since  his  departure. 
The  children  were  subdued  in  manner,  and  their  sober 
faces  showed  how  sincerely  they  were  grieving  for  the 
loss  of  their  sweet  little  playmate.  Lotty  had  kept  close 
beside  her  mother  during  all  the  morning ;  and  whenever 
the  latter  sat  down,  overcome  by  her  feelings,  to  weep, 
the  child  would  come  and  lean  against  her,  or  draw  her 
tiny  arms  about  her  neck,  and  say — 


THE  ANGEL  OP  THE  HOUSEHOLD.       155 

"If  they  don't  bring  her  back,  I  will  be  your  little 
Grace,  mother." 

How  the  words  went  thrilling  to  the  mother's  heart, 
going  deeper  and  deeper  every  time  they  were  repeated, 
until  at  last  she  could  not  help  clasping  the  little  one 
passionately  to  her  bosom. 

Harding,  after  eating  a  few  mouthfuls  of  the  dinner 
which  he  found  awaiting  his  return,  had  left  the  table, 
and  was  preparing  to  leave  the  house,  when  Miss  Gimp, 
the  dressmaker,  who  had  only  half  an  hour  before  got 
home  from  Beechwood,  came  in  with  a  look  of  import 
ance  on  her  thin  face.  In  that  particular  crisis,  she  was 
far  from  being  a  welcome  visitor  j  the  more  especially,  as 
it  was  inferred  by  them  from  her  manner,  that  she  had 
by  some  means  gained  intelligence  of  what  had  occurred. 
She  felt  the  reserve  with  which  they  treated  her,  and 
was  somewhat  piqued  thereat;  nevertheless,  she  could 
not  keep  back  from  them  all  that  was  in  her  mind,  and 
said,  soon  after  she  came  in,  in  order  to  introduce  the 
subject — 

"  How  is  that  dear  little  babe  ?"  glancing  around  the 
room.  "  Asleep,  I  suppose  ?" 

Was  this  a  ruse  to  bring  them  out?  Both  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Harding  thought  so ;  and  therefore  made  no  reply. 

"  I  met  a  lady  over  at  Beechwood,"  said  Miss  Gimp, 
"  who  asked  about  you  and  that  babe  with  a  good  deal 
of  interest." 

"  Indeed !" 

Both  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Harding's  indifference  was  gone. 

"  Who  was  she  ?" 

Miss  Gimp  looked  mysterious 

"I  don't  feel  at  liberty  to  mention  her  name,"  she 
answered,  with  affected  gravity. 

"  Was  she  an  elderly  lady  ?"  inquired  the  carpenter. 

"She  was  neither  very  old  nor  very  young,"  said 
Miss  Gimp. 


156  THE   ANGEL   OF   THE   HOUSEHOLD. 

"Though  somewhat  past  middle  age,"  remarked  the 
carpenter,  who  saw  that  it  was  necessary  to  excite  a 
little  the  dressmaker's  curiosity,  by  appearing  to  have 
some  knowledge  of  the  person  to  whom  she  referred. 

"  Yes,"  said  Miss  Gimp,  looking  at  the  carpenter 
rather  warily. 

"  With  dark,  penetrating  eyes,  and  a  peculiarly  digni 
fied,  almost  commanding  manner/' 

"  I  found  her  pleasant  and  affable  enough,"  said  Miss 
Gimp. 

"  She  can  be  so  when  it  suits  her  purpose." 

"  Ah !  you  know  her,  then  ?"  remarked  the  dress 
maker,  thrown  off  her  guard. 

"  I  have  met  her,  I  presume." 

"  She  did  not  intimate  this." 

Miss  Gimp  looked  a  little  puzzled. 

"  It  was  not  necessary,  I  presume.  Did  you  meet  her 
in  her  own  house  ?" 

"  Me  ?     No,  indeed.     I  haven't  been  to  Clifton." 

"  Ah  !     True  enough.     You  were  at  Beechwood  ?" 

"  Yes.     At  Mrs.  Barclay's.     Mrs.  Beaufort" 

The  dressmaker  stopped  suddenly ;  for  she  saw  by  the 
eager  manner  with  which  the  carpenter  bent  toward  her, 
that  he  was  merely  leading  her  on  to  tell  what  she  knew 
about  the  lady  to  whom  she  had  referred. 

"Mrs.  Beaufort  of  Clifton,  the  widow  of  General 
Beaufort  ?"  said  Harding,  pressing  on  to  the  dressmaker 
so  closely,  that  she  could  only  answer  in  the  affirmative. 

"  Yes ;  it  was  Mrs.  Beaufort,"  she  replied.  "  She  is 
a  sister  of  Mrs.  Barclay,  and  was  making  a  short  visit  at 
Beechwood  while  I  was  there." 

"  Did  she  leave  yesterday  ?" 

The  carpenter  asked  the  question  in  so  indifferent  a 
tone,  that  Miss  Gimp  was  altogether  deceived  as  to  the 
amount  of  interest  he  felt. 

"  Yes.     She  went  away  some  time  in  the  afternoon, 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD.       157 

I  believe.  Her  going  was  thought  rather  sudden  by  the 
family.  In  fact,  I  heard  Mrs.  Barclay  say  to  her 
daughter — the  words  were  not  meant  for  my  ears — that 
she  couldn't  conceive  what  motive  Mrs.  Beaufort  had 
for  leaviug  so  abruptly,  and  at  so  late  an  hour  in  the 
day/' 

"  You  will  excuse  me,  Miss  Gimp,"  said  the  car 
penter,  partly  turning  away,  and  taking  up  his  hat  from 
a  chair. 

"  Men  are  always  excusable,"  returned  Miss  Gimp. 
"  Business  has  the  first  claim.  So  make  no  apologies." 

"  Mary  !" 

Harding  looked  at  his  wife,  and  she  arose  and  followed 
him  to  the  door. 

"I  am  going  over  to  Clifton,"  said  he,  "and  will 
come  back  as  early  as  possible.  In  the  mean  time,  be  on 
your  guard  with  Miss  Gimp,  and  do  not,  on  any  account, 
let  her  know  what  happened  last  night." 

"  Never  fear,  Jacob;  she  will  learn  nothing  from  me," 
returned  Mrs.  Harding.  "  But  do  you  think  that  woman 
was  Mrs.  Beaufort  of  Clifton  ?" 

"  I  am  sure  of  it." 

"Don't  be  too  certain,  Jacob.  The  disappointment, 
should  the  supposition  prove  untrue,  will  only  be  the 
greater." 

"  There  is  not  a  shadow  of  doubt  on  my  mind,  Mary 
— not  a  shadow.  Good-by  !  I  will  be  back  as  early  as 
possible."  ***  • : 

And  the  carpenter  hurried  away. 

"You  know,  then,  all  about  this  Mrs.  Beaufort?" 
said  Miss  Gimp,  in  the  most  insinuating  way,  as  Mrs. 
Harding  came  back  into  the  room. 

"  The  lady  about  whom  you  were  speaking  to  my  hus 
band  just  now  ?" 

The  utter  indifference  with  which  Mrs.  Harding  said 
this,  surprised  in  no  small  degree  the  dressmaker. 

14 


158       THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD. 

ft  Yes.     Mrs.  Beaufort,  who  resides  at  Clifton." 

Mrs.  Harding  shook  her  head.  "  On  the  contrary,  I 
know  nothing  about  her/' 

"Nothing?  Well,  that's  strange!  I'm  sure  your 
husband  does,  if  you  don't." 

Miss  Gimp  was  puzzled,  disappointed,  and  a  little 
fretted. 

"That  may  all  be,"  answered  Mrs.  Harding.  "He 
sees  a  great  many  people  who  never  come  in  my  way." 

"  But,  really,  now,  Mrs.  Harding,  just  in  confidence" 
— Miss  Gimp  leaned  toward  the  carpenter's  wife,  and 
put  on  her  most  insinuating  look — "don't  you  know 
something  about  Mrs.  Beaufort  ?  I'm  sure  you  do.  She 
had  a  great  deal  to  say  about  you." 

"  Had  she  ?" 

"Yes,  indeed;  and  about  the  baby  in  particular. 
Where  is  it?"  and  Miss  Gimp's  eyes  looked  around, 
searchingly. 

<  What  about  the  baby  ?"  said  Mrs.  Harding. 

"  And  you  don't  know  her  at  all  ?" 

Mrs.  Harding  shook  her  head. 

"  It's  my  opinion,  then,  that  she  knows  a  great  deal 
more  about  that  baby  than  you  do." 

Almost  impossible  did  Mrs.  Harding  find  it  to  repress 
the  strong  desire  she  felt  to  question  Miss  Gimp  closely, 
and  to  gain  all  she  knew  at  the  price  of  entire  confi 
dence  ;  but  her  better  judgment  gave  her  self-control. 

"  That  may  be,"  she  answered ;  "  for  we  know  nothing 
of  its  history.  All  I  can  say  is,  that  I  hope  she  may 
have  as  clear  a  conscience  about  the  child  as  we  have." 

"  Clear  a  conscience  !     How  ?" 

And  Miss  Gimp's  eyes  went  searching  about  the  room 
again,  and  even  tried  to  penetrate  the  adjoining  chamber, 
through  a  small  opening  in  the  door. 

"  We  have  done  our  duty  by  the  babe." 

Miss  Gimp  was  puzzled. 


THE  ANGEL  OP  THE  HOUSEHOLD.       159 


"  How  is  the  sweet  little  cherub  ?"  she  asked. 

"  Well,"  was  the  brief  answer. 

"  Asleep,  I  suppose  ?" 

"  When  did  you  leave  Beechwood  ?"  asked  Mrs 
Harding,  not  appealing  to  notice  the  dressmaker* j 
question. 

"  This  morning." 

"  How  long  were  you  there  ?" 

"  Several  days." 

"  At  Mrs.  Barclay's,  you  said,  I  believe  ?' 

"  Yes.  She  sent  her  carriage  for  me,  and  took  me 
over." 

"  And  returned  you  in  the  same  way  ?" 

"  Of  course.  She's  very  much  of  a  lady,  only  so  cold 
and  reserved.  Mrs.  Beaufort,  her  husband's  sister,  is  a 
very  different  kind  of  woman." 

"  In  what  respect  ?" 

"  Oh  !  she's  so  pleasant  and  talkative." 

"  What  kind  of  a  looking  person  is  she  ?"  asked  Mrs 
Harding. 

"  Tall,  and  very  dignified.  I  never  saw  such  a  pene 
trating  pair  of  black  eyes  in  my  life.  They  seem  to  look 
right  through  you  sometimes.  She  takes  a  great  deal  of 
interest  in  you,  let  me  tell  you." 

"  Does  she,  indeed  ?     I  wonder  why  !" 

How  hard  was  it  for  the  carpenter's  wife  to  maintain 
her  exterior  indifference ! 

"No,  you  don't  wonder,"  said  Miss  Gimp,  whose  close 
observation  detected  the  hidden  excitement  the  other  was 
so  anxious  to  conceal.  "  You  know  that  you  are  dying, 
this  minute,  to  hear  all  I  can  tell  about  Mrs.  Beaufort." 

"If  you  really  think  so,"  remarked  Mrs.  Harding, 
forcing  a  smile,  "  pray  have  compassion  on  me,  and  re 
lieve  my  great  suspense." 

The  dressmaker  was  at  fault  again. 

"  Oh !"  she  replied,  with  ill-concealed  vexation,  "  if 


160  THE   ANGEL   OF   THE   HOUSEHOLD. 

you  are  so  indifferent  about  the  matter,  I  shall  not 
trouble  myself  to  enlighten  you.  I  thought  you  would 
naturally  feel  an  interest  in  learning  something  about  a 
person  who  evidently  knows  a  good  deal  more  than  you 
do  about  little  Grace,  and  who,  it  is  plain,  has  her  eyes 
pretty  closely  fixed  on  you." 

Saying  this,  Miss  Gimp  arose,  and  made  a  movement 
toward  the  door.  She  was  very  confident  that  this  act 
would  break  down,  at  once,  the  assumed  indifference  of 
Mrs.  Harding.  But  she  erred.  The  latter  was  too 
clearly  aware  of  how  much  was  at  stake  to  suffer  herself 
to  be  thrown  from  her  guard.  All  the  information  of 
any  value  possessed  by  Miss  Gimp  had  been  communi 
cated.  She  saw  this,  as  her  mind  grew  calm  and  clear, 
and  she  was  pleased  that  the  prying  gossip  was  about  to 
depart.  It  was  in  vain  that  the  dressmaker  lingered, 
and  tried  to  strike  some  new  chord  of  interest.  Nothing 
vibrated  to  her  touch ;  and  she  withdrew,  utterly  disap 
pointed  in  the  object  of  her  visit,  and  in  a  very  bad  hu 
mour  with  both  the  carpenter  and  his  wife,  whom  she 
failed  not  to  abuse,  in  round  terms,  during  three  neigh 
bourly  visits  paid  by  her  ere  reaching  her  own  dwelling. 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD.       161 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

IN  a  large  chamber,  the  costly  furniture  of  which  was 
in  the  fashion  of  an  earlier  day,  sat  a  pale  but  beautiful 
young  woman,  gazing  fondly  upon  the  lovely  face  of  a 
sleeping  child.  She  had  no  eye,  no  ear,  no  thought  for 
any  thing  but  the  babe ;  for,  as  she  sat  thus,  an  elderly 
woman  entered,  and  moved  across  the  room,  without 
attracting  observation,  until  she  stood  close  beside  her. 

"  Edith !" 

The  young  woman  started,  and  her  face  slightly 
flushed. 

"  I  did  not  hear  you  come  in,  mother/'  she  said. 

"  You  can  neither  hear  nor  see  any  thing,  now,  but 
that  child." 

The  mother  spoke  with  some  harshness  of  manner. 

Edith  raised  her  eyes — they  were  not  tearful,  but 
calm  and  resolute — and  fixing  them  on  the  face  of  her 
mother,  she  said,  speaking  slowly,  yet  firmly — 

"  Have  I  not  said,  mother,  that  thif  babe  is  dearer  to 
me  than  life  ?  Believe  me,  they  were  no  idle  words, 
uttered  under  excitement.  For  her  sweet  sake,  I  am 
prepared  to  give  up  every  thing — to  endure  every  thing. 
Let  us,  then,  contend  no  longer." 

"  Think  of  the  consequences,  Edith !  Cannot  you 
think  of  these  ?  Remember  that  Colonel  D'  Arcy  will  be 
here  next  week." 

"  Well  ?" 

"  And  that  he  comes  to  claim  your  hand." 

"  Claim  my  hand  ?" 

"  It  is  promised,"  said  Mrs.  Beaufort. 

"By  whom?" 

14* 


162       THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD. 

"By  yourself.  He  has  your  written  acceptance  of 
his  marriage  offer." 

((  My  written  acceptance  ?" 

"  Yes.     But  why  need  you  be  reminded  of  this  ?" 

Edith  raised  one  hand,  and  clasping  it  tightly  against 
her  forehead,  sat  for  some  moments  with  a  bewildered 
look. 

"  My  written  acceptance  of  Colonel  D'Arcy's  hand ! 
Why  do  you  say  that,  mother  ?" 

"  Because  it  is  the  truth.  You  wrote  the  letter  of  ac 
ceptance  yourself/' 

"I  did!     When?" 

Edith  looked  more  surprised  than  ever. 

"  Scarcely  two  months  have  passed,"  was  the  firm 
answer. 

"  Ah !"  A  gleam  of  light  shot  across  the  young 
woman's  face.  "  That,  too/'  she  added,  with  a  sigh,  "  is 
becoming  clear.  By  what  dark  spirit  was  I  possessed  ? 
Mother !  I  have  been  on  the  very  brink  of  insanity. 
The  extorted  pledges  then  made  I  now  repudiate,  as  I 
have  already  repudiated  the  cruel  act  of  abandoning  my 
precious  babe.  Had  I  been  in  my  right  mind,  I  dare 
not  now  pray  for  forgiveness.  The  act  of  accepting 
Colonel  D'Arcy  is  yours,  mother,  not  mine.  Your 
thought — your  purpose — guided  my  hand  when  I  wrote 
the  letter,  as  it  guided  and  controlled  my  actions  on  that 
day,  of  all  days  the  darkest  in  the  calendar  of  my  un 
happy  life.  But  I  have  returned  into  my  own  proper 
self.  I  am  clothed  and  in  my  right  mind  again ;  and, 
Heaven  helping  me,  from  this  day  forth  I  yield  to  no  in 
fluence  but  that  of  my  own  sense  of  right  and  duty  !  I 
can  work  and  suffer,  mother.  I  can  bend  to  any  hard  ne 
cessity  that  may  come;  but  false  to  my  woman's  heart  I 
will  not  be .!  The  widow's  tears  are  not  yet  dry  on  my 
cheeks,  and  shall  I  turn  my  heart  from  all  its  pure  love  ? 
You  need  not  scowl  at  rne;  mother — I  did  love  him 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD.       163 


with  a  full  heart,  tenderly.  He  was  my  husband,  my 
excellent,  true,  noble-minded  husband,  poor  and  in 
humble  station  though  he  was ;  and  the  duty  of  public 
acknowledgment  that  I  owe  to  his  memory,  to  myself, 
and  to  his  child,  I  am  resolved  to  make,  and  that  right 
speedily.  My  first  great  error  was  the  concealment  of 
our  marriage  from  the  world ;  the  second  was  suffering 
him  to  go  away  alone.  Oh  that  I  could  have  been  with 
him  in  his  last  extremity  !  My  hand  should  have  been 
the  one  that  smoothed  his  pillow — my  voice  the  last  that 
sounded  in  his  ears.  Ah,  mother ! — hard,  proud,  exact 
ing  mother !  With  what  memories  have  you  cursed  your 
child !" 

Gradually  had  voice  and  manner  deepened,  until  both 
displayed  an  almost  fierce  energy,  before  which  Mrs. 
Beaufort — for  she  it  was — felt  herself  cowering.  Hitherto 
her  imperious  will  had  ruled  her  daughter ;  but  now  her 
power  over  her  was  at  an  end,  and  she  felt  that  it  was  so. 
The  darling  scheme,  to  compass  which  she  had  trampled 
the  most  sacred  obligations  under  foot — making  her  suf 
fering  child  a  participator,  even  at  the  risk  of  dethroning 
her  reason — had  come  to  naught;  and  in  its  hopeless 
failure,  other  ruin  was  involved.  Gone  for  ever — she 
saw,  in  this  second  strong  encounter  with  Edith,  that  it 
was  so — gone  for  ever  was  all  power  to  bend  that  young 
spirit  to  her  will.  But,  what  next?  Could  she  turn 
from  her  child  in  proud  anger,  and  go  forward  on  her 
life-path  alone  ?  She  asked  herself  the  question ;  and  the 
very  thought  caused  a  quick  gasping  for  breath,  as  if  she 
were  about  to  suffocate.  A  little  while  she  remained 
standing  near  Edith;  then,  without  replying,  she  went 
slowly  from  the  room. 

An  hour  afterward  she  returned,  entering  the  chamber 
of  her  daughter  as  noiselessly  as  before.  A  low,  sweet, 
cooing  voice  stole  into  her  ears  as  she  passed  through  the 
door,  and  thrilled  her  whole  being  with  a  strange  etno- 


164  THE   ANGEL   OF   THE    HOUSEHOLD. 


tion — a  mingling  of  exquisite  pleasure  and  pain.  It  was 
the  baby's  voice.  Little  Grace  was  lying  on  the  bed, 
and  over  her  bent  Edith. 

"  Darling  !     Sweet  one  !     Darling  !" 

Thus  her  mother  spoke  to  her,  and  at  each  tenderly 
uttered  word,  she  answered  with  a  loving  response. 

"  My  sweet  baby  V 

And  a  shower  of  kisses  followed  the  words. 

The  babe  still  answered,  with  its  sweet,  low  murmur, 
every  word  and  every  act  of  endearment.  She  lay, 
partly  elevated  on  a  pillow,  and  in  such  a  position  that 
Mrs.  Beaufort  could  see  her  face,  while  she  remained  un 
observed  by  her  daughter.  The  hour  passed  alone  had 
been  one  of  strong  self-conflict — ending  with  self-con 
viction  of  wrong.  The  proud,  unscrupulous  woman  of 
the  world  chafed  for  a  time  against  the  iron  bars  of  ne 
cessity  with  which  she  found  herself  enclosed,  and  then 
gave  up  the  vain  struggle. 

"  Hard,  proud,  exacting  mother  !  With  what  memories 
have  you  cursed  your  child  !"  How  the  words  continued 
to  ring  in  her  ears,  until  chords  were  thrilled  which  had 
given  forth  no  sound  for  years.  Calmness  succeeded  to 
powerful  emotion ;  and  with  this  subsiding  of  the  storm, 
canie  touches  of -gentler  feeling. 

"  My  poor  child  1"  she  sighed  to  herself,  as  some  vivid 
realizations  of  what  Edith  had  suffered  startled  her  into 
a  new  consciousness. 

This  was  Mrs.  Beaufort's  state  of  mind  when  she  en 
tered  Edith's  chamber.  It  was  not  the  first  time  that 
the  voice  of  Grace  had  awakened  echoes  in  her  heart 
None  but  she  knew  the  struggle  that  it  cost  to  part  with 
the  babe,  when  cruel  pride  and  worldly  interests  de 
manded  its  abandonment.  Angry  as  she  had  been  at  her 
daughter's  secret  marriage  with  a  young  man  in  humble 
life,  when  the  fact  was  made  known  to  her,  and  almost 
driven  to  madness  when  the  babe  came  to  mar  all  the 


THE  ANGEL  OP  THE  HOUSEHOLD.       165 

well-schemed  future — still,  in  its  lovely  innocence,  that 
babe  had  glided  into  her  heart,  and  made  for  itself  a 
place  there  in  spite  of  all  her  efforts  to  keep  it  out  and 
to  cast  it  out.  Witness  her  two  visits  at  the  carpenter's, 
in  venturing  which  so  much  was  endangered. 

In  full  view  was  the  babe's  face,  as  she  entered  the 
room  of  Edith.  What  a  heavenly  beauty  radiated  there 
from  !  What  a  winning  sweetness  was  in  her  murmured 
replies,  as  she  answered  to  the  voice  of  her  mother ! 

"  Edith  !"  said  Mrs.  Beaufort. 

Edith  started,  as  before,  and  a  shadow  fell  on  her 
countenance,  as  she  turned  toward  her  parent. 

11  Edith,  my  daughter  I"  There  was  a  tremulousness 
in  the  tones  of  Mrs.  Beaufort,  that  betrayed  her  softened 
feelings.  A  few  moments  Edith  looked  into  her  face, 
doubtiugly ;  then  she  saw  that  her  eyes  were  dimmed  by 
gathering  tears. 

"  Oh,  my  mother !  my  mother !"  she  exclaimed,  in  a 
voice  of  passionate  entreaty;  "will  you  not  take  this 
precious  darling  to  your  heart,  as  once  you  took  me  ?" 
And  she  lifted  Grace  quickly  from  the  bed,  and  held  her 
toward  her  mother.  "  Her  hands  are  outstretched,  mo 
ther  !  She  asks  for  a  place  in  your  heart.  Will  you  not 
let  her  in  ?  A  Heaven-sent  blessing  to  us  both  she  will 
prove — an  angel  in  our  home  to  smile  away  the  darkness 
that  has  overshadowed  it  so  long  Dear  mother  !  gather 
us  both  in  your  arms  !  Mother  !  mother  !" 

The  last  brief  struggle  was  over.  Around  them  both 
the  arms  of  Mrs.  Beaufort  were  flung,  and,  with  a  strong 
compression,  she  drew  them  to  her  heart. 

4<  My  child  !  my  child  !"  she  sobbed,  as  her  tears  fell 
over  the  face  of  Edith  and  the  babe.  "  Even  so  let  it  be. 
There  is  room  enough  for  both.  I  will  take  her  in. 
Nay — she  is  there  already." 


166  THE   ANGEL   OF   THE   HOUSEHOLD. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

MRS.  BEAUFORT,  the  widow  of  General  Beaufort,  a 
man  of  wealth,  who  had  attained  considerable  political 
distinction  during  his  lifetime,  was  left  with  an  only 
daughter,  Edith,  for  whom  she  had  large  ambition.  A 
very  selfish  and  self-willed  woman,  she  yet  loved  this 
child  with  an  absorbing  intensity  rarely  witnessed. 
Edith  was  a  part  of  herself,  and  she  loved  herself  in  its 
reproduction  in  her  child,  with  a  largely  increased 
vitality. 

But  very  unlike  her  mother  was  Edith.  In  her,  the 
milder,  better  traits  of  her  father  predominated,  and  this 
gave  room  for  the  acquirement,  by  such  a  woman  as 
Sirs.  Beaufort,  of  almost  unbounded  control  over  her. 
From  the  beginning,  the  most  implicit  obedience  had 
been  exacted;  and  as  it  was  ever  an  easy  sacrifice  for 
Edith  to  give  up  her  own  will,  the  requirement  of  her 
mother  came  to  be  the  law  of  her  actions. 

While  Edith  remained  a  child,  the  current  of  these 
two  lives — that  of  the  mother  and  daughter — flowed  on 
together  at  the  same  velocity,  and  in  channels  bending 
ever  in  the  same  direction.  But  there  came  a  time  when 
the  surface  of  that  gently  gliding  child-life  began  break 
ing  into  ripples — when  the  heart  claimed  its  freedom  to 
love  what  its  own  pure  instincts  regarded  as  lovely. 

From  the  earliest  time,  had  the  thoughts  of  Mrs. 
Beaufort  reached  forward  to  the  period  when  Edith's 
hand  would  be  claimed  in  marriage ;  but  not  once  had 
qualities  of  mind  and  heart  elevated  themselves,  in  the 
prospective  husband,  above  family,  wealth,  and  higb 
position  in  the  world. 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD.       1C7 

As  Edith  grew  up,  and  the  pure  young  girl  expanded 
into  lovely  womanhood,  her  personal  attractions,  as  well 
as  her  station  in  life,  drew  suitors  around  her;  but  all 
failed  to  win  their  way  into  her  affections.  Among  these 
was  a  Colonel  D'Arcy,  a  man  of  wealth  and  station,  who 
in  every  thing  satisfied  the  ambition  of  Mrs.  Beaufort. 
Well-educated,  accomplished,  possessing  a  fine  person 
and  a  large  share  of  self-esteem,  Colonel  D'Arcy,  on  ap 
proaching  the  lovely  heiress,  might  have  exclaimed  with 
Caesar,  at  the  battle  of  Ziecla,  "  Veni,  vidi,  vici !" 

But  he  came,  he  saw,  and  did  not  conquer.  The  heart 
of  Edith  was  too  true  in  its  perceptions  to  make  an  error 
here.  Utterly  repulsive  to  her  was  this  confident  suitor. 
The  sphere  of  his  quality  surrounded  him  like  the  subtle 
odour  of  a  noxious  plant,  and  her  delicate  moral  sense 
perceived  this  quality  the  instant  he  approached.  That 
he  repelled  instead  of  attracting  her,  D'Arcy  saw  at  their 
earliest  interview.  This  piqued  his  pride,  and,  in  the 
first  excitement  occasioned  by  Edith's  cool  reception,  he 
vowed  that  he  would  "  win  her  and  wear  her."  It  did 
not  take  long  to  satisfy  the  gallant  colonel  that  the 
storming  of  a  fort  was  an  easier  task  than  the  storming 
of  a  heart.  That  of  Miss  Beaufort  he  found  impregnable 
under  all  his  known  modes  of  warfare. 

That  the  mother  favoured  his  suit,  Colonel  D'Arcy 
saw  from  the  beginning;  but  a  proud  confidence  in  his 
own  powers  would  not  let  him  stoop  to  solicit  her  as  an 
ally.  Yet  he  had  to  do  so  in  the  end.  Against  their 
joint  assault,  aware,  as  he  had  become,  of  Mrs.  Beau 
fort's  influence  over  her  daughter,  he  was  certain  there 
would  only  be  a  short  resistance.  Here,  again,  he  erred. 
Edith  unhesitatingly  declared  to  her  mother  that  no 
power  on  earth  would  induce  her  to  accept  the  hand  of 
Colonel  D'Arcy,  for  whom  she  h?d  the  most  intense  re 
pugnance.  Never  before  had  her  daughter  so  boldly  set 
at  naught  her  will.  The  fiery  indignation  of  Mrs.  Beau- 


168       THE  ANGEL  OP  THE  HOUSEHOLD. 

fort  burned  fiercely  for  a  time,  and  in  her  blind  passion 
she  did  not  hesitate  to  utter  the  maddest  threats  of  con 
sequences,  if  there  was  not  an  instant  compliance  with 
her  wishes. 

"  I  can  imagine  nothing  so  dreadful  as  to  become  the 
wife  of  that  man,"  Edith  would  answer — shuddering  as 
she  answered — every  intemperate  appeal.  And  little  be 
yond  this  did  she  say ;  for  all  her  words,  she  knew,  must 
fall  idly  on  her  mother's  ears. 

Meantime,  at  the  house  of  a  friend  in  the  neighbour 
hood,  she  met  with  a  young  man,  named  Percival,  who 
was  paying  a  short  visit  there.  He  resided  in  the  city 
of  B ,  distant  a  hundred  miles,  where  he  was  pur 
suing  the  study  of'law.  He  was  poor,  with  few  interested 
friends,  and  had  the  world  all  before  him.  At  their  first 
meeting,  Henry  Percival  did  not  know  even  the  name, 
much  less  the  social  position  of  Miss  Beaufort ;  and  she 
was  as  ignorant  of  all  that  appertained  to  him.  But 
from  the  eyes  of  each  looked  forth  upon  the  other  a  con 
genial  spirit,  that  was  seen  and  recognised. 

The  progressive  steps  of  their  intimacy  we  will  not 
pause  to  relate.  On  the  part  of  Percival,  there  was  no 
design,  in  the  beginning,  to  win  the  heart  of  Edith  -}  and 
when  he  saw  that  it  was  his,  and  reflected  on  the  wide 
disparity  of  their  possessions,  the  discovery  saddened  his 
spirit,  for  he  saw,  darkening  over  both  their  futures,  a 
stormy  cloud. 

On  returning  home  to  pursue  his  studies,  he  arranged 
with  Edith  for  a  regular  correspondence,  which  was  con 
ducted  for  nearly  a  year,  without  becoming  known  to 
Mrs.  Beaufort.  At  the  end  of  that  time,  he  came  back 
to  Clifton,  when  he  and  Edith  were  secretly  married. 
The  precipitation  of  this  act  was  caused  by  Mrs.  Beau 
fort's  acceptance  of  Colonel  D'Arcy  in  the  name  of  her 
daughter,  and  the  actual  appointment  of  a  day,  some  two 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD.       1G9 

or  three  months  distant,  when  the  nuptial  ceremonies 
were  to  take  place. 

In  order  to  free  Edith  from  the  martyrdom  in  which 
her  life  was  passed,  and  to  get  for  ever  rid  of  Colonel 
D'Arcy,  the  young  couple  resolved  upon  this  step.  It 
was  taken,  and  notice  thereof  at  once  communicated  to 
Mrs.  Beaufort,  coupled  with  the  intelligence  that  the 
bridegroom  and  bride  would  present  themselves  before 
her  after  the  lapse  of  a  week,  and  claim  forgiveness  and 
a  blessing. 

We  will  not  attempt  to  describe  the  state  of  mind  into 
which  Mrs.  Beaufort  was  thrown  by  this  undreamed-of 
intelligence.  Her  very  life's  love  was  assailed  and 
threatened  with  extinction.  No  eye  but  that  of  Heaven 
saw  her,  as,  in  the  secrecy  of  her  own  chamber,  she  en 
dured  the  wild  conflict  of  passion  that  succeeded;  but 
marks  of  the  fearful  storm  were  too  plainly  visible  on  her 
altered  face,  when  she  came  forth  in  her  stately  com 
posure. 

The  week  passed,  and  then  Edith  and  her  young  hus 
band  presented  themselves.  The  first  she  received  with 
icy  coldness ;  the  latter  she  overwhelmed  with  bitter  de 
nunciation  and  the  most  withering  scorn. 

"  Come,  Henry,"  'said  the  young  wife,  laying  her  hand 
upon  his  arm,  and  drawing  him  away — "  I  will  not  hear 
you  addressed  in  such  language,  even  by  my  mother. 
You  are  niy  husband,  and  the  wide  world  is  ours." 

There  was  a  simple  dignity,  blended  with  unmis 
takable  purpose  in  this,  that  confounded  as  well  as  sur 
prised  Mrs.  Beaufort.  Edith  had  already  turned  away, 
and  was  moving  with  her  husband  toward  the  door 
through  which  they  had  just  entered. 

"  Edith  !     Girl  1" 

The  voice  of  the  mother  arose  almost  into  a  cry  of 
anguish. 

Edith  paused,  and  turning,  looked  back.     Her  face 

15 


170  THE   ANGEL   OF   THE   HOUSEHOLD. 


was  colourless,  and  all  its  lines  rigid  from  excessive 
emotion ;  but  it  was  resolute. 

"I  have  cast  my  lot  in  life,  and  with  deliberation, 
mother,"  she  said.  "You  left  me  no  other  course. 
Death  I  could  have  met  calmly,  but  not  the  destiny  you 
assigned  me.  This  man  is  my  husband,  chosen  from  all 
other  men,  and  with  him  I  shall  go  through  the  world. 
If  you  receive  not  him,  you  cannot  receive  me." 

"  Mad  girl !  mad  girl !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Beaufort,  as 
she  staggered  back  a  few  steps,  and  sunk  upon  a  chair. 
"  How  have  you  flung  to  the  stormy  winds  every  dearest 
hope  of  my  life  !" 

Edith  left  her  husband's  side,  and  going  quickly  to 
her  mother,  laid  her  hand  gently  upon  her  hot  forehead, 
on  which  the  veins  were  swollen  into  chords.  The  touch 
of  that  soft  hand  thrilled  magnetically  along  every  nerve. 
For  some  minutes  Mrs.  Beaufort  sat  entirely  passive. 

Ah  !  she  could  not  live  without  her  child  j  and  never 
did  she  feel  that  truth  more  deeply  or  more  painfully. 
Indignant  pride  would  have  flung  her  off  and  disowned 
her  for  ever;  but  intense  love  clung  to  her  even  as  the 
drowning  cling  to  a  straw. 

"  0  Edith  !  my  child  !  what  have  you  done  ?" 

As  these  words  came  almost  sobbing  from  her  lips, 
Mrs.  Beaufort  arose  and  went  from  the  room  with  un 
steady  steps. 

When,  after  the  lapse  of  two  hours,  she  rejoined  Edith 
and  her  husband,  it  was  to  meet  them  with  a  kindness 
of  manner  that  took  both  by  surprise.  Below  this  as 
sumed  exterior,  Percival,  who  had  a  quick,  penetrating 
mind,  saw  concealed  a  sinister  purpose ;  but  Edith,  too 
happy  at  so  broad  a  concession,  believed  that  her 'mother 
had  resolved  to  make  the  best  of  circumstances,  which  no 
act  of  hers  could  change.  The  first  inquiries  made  by 
Mrs.  Beaufort  were  in  reference  to  the  publicity  which 
had  been  given  to  the  marriage.  On  learning  that  every 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD.       171 

thing  had  been  conducted  with  the  strictest  secrecy,  and 
that  the  fact  was  only  known  to  one  or  two  pledged 
friends,  who  were  to  be  relied  upon,  she  expressed  much 
satisfaction,  and  at  once  proposed  further  measures  of 
concealment  for  the  present. 

To  these  proposals,  Percivai  and  Edith,  after  some 
persuasion,  were  induced  to  accede ;  and  at  an  early  day 

the  young  man  returned  to  B alone,  to  enter  upon 

the  practice  of  his  profession,  he  having  been  just  ad 
mitted  to  the  bar. 

Six  or  seven  months  elapsed,  during  which  time  Per 
civai  had  twice  visited  Clifton,  arriving,  by  arrangement, 
late  in  the  evening,  and  not  showing  himself  to  any 
visitor  during  the  brief  period  he  remained.  To  both 
himself  and  Edith,  this  secrecy  was  growing  daily  more 
and  more  oppressive  and  repugnant,  and  it  was  only 
maintained  through  the  powerful  influence  of  Mrs. 
Beaufort. 

About  this  time,  a  gentleman  froon  New  Orleans 
called  upon  Percivai,  and  made  him  liberal  offers  if  he 
would  go  to  the  South.  This  person's  name  was  Maris. 
He  had  been  in  correspondence  for  some  two  years  with 
Percivai' s  legal  preceptor,  and  at  his  instance  made  the 
proposition  to  which  we  have  referred.  The  opening 
promised  to  be  so  largely  advantageous,  that  the  young 
man  felt  bound  to  accept  of  it.  Previously  to  doing  so, 
he  repaired  to  Clifton  to  consult  with  his  wife  and 
mother-in-law.  Edith  made  some  feeble  objections; 
but  Mrs.  Beaufort  was  so  decided  in  her  approval,  that 
she  acquiesced,  and  immediate  preparations  for  departure 
were  made. 

For  three  months  letters  came  regularly  from  Per 
civai,  whose  residence  was  New  Orleans.  He  spoke  with 
animation  of  his  opening  prospects,  and  shadowed  forth, 
in  ardent  fancy,  a  future  of  brilliant  success  in  his  pro 
fession.  Then  came  a.  longer  silence  than  usual ;  then  a 


172  THE   ANGEL   OF   THE   HOUSEHOLD. 

letter  from  Mr.  Maris,  announcing  Percival's  dangerous 
illness  with  a  Southern  fever.  Two  weeks  more — weeks 
of  agony  to  the  young  wife — and  the  terrible  news  of  his 
death  came,  with  mournful  details  of  the  last  extremity. 
In  the  midst  of  Edith's  wild  anguish,  a  babe  was  born — 
the  sweet  little  Grace,  in  whom  the  reader  feels  so  tender 
an  interest.  Around  this  event,  Mrs.  Beaufort  threw 
every  possible  vail  of  concealment,  even  going  so  far  as 
to  bribe  to  secrecy,  by  most  liberal  inducements,  every 
member  of  her  household  that  became  necessarily  aware 
of  the  circumstances. 

Weak  in  body  and  mind — prostrate,  in  fact,  under  the 
heavy  blow  that  fell  so  suddenly  upon  her — Edith  be 
came  passive  in  the  hands  of  her  mother,  and  obeyed  her, 
for  a  time,  with  the  unquestioning  docility  of  a  little 
child.  Even  her  mind,  in  its  feeble  state,  became  im 
pressed  with  the  idea  of  secrecy,  so  steadily  enjoined  by 
Mrs.  Beaufort;  and,  in  presence  of  the  few  visitors  whom 
she  could  not  refuse  to  see,  she  assumed  a  false  exterior, 
and  most  sedulously  concealed  every  thing  that  could 
awake  even  a  remote  suspicion  that  she  had  been  a  wife, 
and  was  now  a  mother. 

Meantime,  under  all  the  disadvantages  of  its  position, 
the  babe  was  steadily  winning  its  way  into  a  heart  that, 
from  the  beginning,  shut  the  door  against  it,  with  a  reso 
lute  and  cruel  purpose.  Mrs.  Beaufort  could  never  come 
where  it  was,  without  feeling  a  desire  to  take  it  in  her 
arms,  and  hug  it  to  her  bosom;  and  the  more  she  re 
sisted  this  desire,  the  stronger  it  became,  until  the  con 
flict  occasioned  kept  her  in  a  constant  state  of  excite 
ment. 

A  few  weeks  after  the  news  of  Percival's  death  was 
received,  Colonel  D'Arcy  visited  Clifton.  On  being  an 
nounced,  Edith  positively  refused  to  see  him;  and  her 
feeble  state  warranted,  even  in  her  mother's  view,  the 
decision.  He  remained  only  a  short  time;  but,  on 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD.       173 


leaving,  placed  in  the  hands  of  Mrs.  Beaufort  an  epistle 
for  her  daughter,  couched  in  the  tenderest  language,  and 
renewing  previous  offers  of  his  hand. 

Percival  out  of  the  way,  Mrs.  Beaufort  was  now  more 
than  ever  resolved  to  compass  this  darling  scheme  of  her 
heart — the  marriage  of  her  daughter  with  Colonel 
D'Arcy.  The  first  step  in  its  sure  accomplishment  was 
to  get  the  child  out  of  the  way.  But  how  was  this  to  be 
done  ?  It  was  a  fine,  healthy  child,  more  than  usually 
forward  for  its  age,  and  in  no  way  likely  to  die  speedily, 
unless — unless  ?  Did  thoughts  of  murder  stir  in  the 
mind  of  that  proud,  selfish,  cruel  woman  ?  Such  thoughts 
were  suggested,  and  even  pondered  !  But  other  thoughts 
— of  disgrace  and  punishment — came  quickly  to  drive 
them  out.  The  abandonment  of  Grace  was  next  deter 
mined  upon.  To  effect  this,  she  first  induced  Edith — 
who,  from  grief,  sickness,  and  incessant  persecution,  had 
entirely  lost  her  mental  equipoise — to  write  a  letter  of 
acceptance  to  Colonel  D'Arcy.  Passive  hopelessness  left 
her  a  mere  instrument  in  her  mother's  hands.  For  her 
acts  she  was  scarcely  responsible.  The  letter  of  accept 
ance  passed  speedily  from  her,  and  went  on  its  mission, 
beyond  recall.  This  fact  of  acceptance  was  a  great  power 
gained  over  Edith — a  power  that  Mrs.  Beaufort,  seeing 
her  vantage  ground,  used  with  a  heartless  rigour,  that 
finally  led  to  the  cruel  act  of  desertion  already  known  to 
the  reader. 

For  two  weeks  subsequent  to  Edith's  return  home, 
after  placing  the  basket  containing  her  babe  at  the  door 
of  Mr.  Harding — she  had  resisted  all  persuasion,  en 
treaty,  and  command  of  her  mother  to  leave  that  task  for 
another — she  retained  but  little  consciousness  of  sur 
rounding  circumstances.  The  trial  proved  too  great  j 
and  her  over-tried  spirit  sought  protection  and  repose  in 
partial  oblivion.  Slowly  recovering,  her  first  sane  thoughts 
were  of  her  babe ;  and.  though  she  said  nothing  of  her 

15* 


174       THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD. 


purpose  to  her  mother,  she  was*  fully  resolved,  the  mo 
ment  strength  came  for  the  effort,  to  regain  possession 
thereof,  publicly  acknowledging  it  and  her  marriage, 
and,  if  that  sad  necessity  were  imposed,  go  forth  from 
her  mother's  house  into  the  world  alone. 

The  meeting  at  Harding's  was  quite  as  great  a  surprise 
to  Edith  as  to  her  mother;  but  it  was  all  the  better,  as 
giving  occasion  for  the  unqualified  declaration  of  her 
future  purpose — a  declaration  that,  as  has  been  seen,  she 
was  prepared  to  sustain. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

"  IP  the  heart  is  not  satisfied,  mother,  life  at  best  is  a 
heavy  burden." 

Mrs.  Beaufort  and  her  daughter  were  sitting  together, 
on  the  day  after  their  recovery  of  Grace,  and  talking 
calmly  of  the  future.  Hopeless  of  attaining  her  ambi 
tious  ends,  the  former  had  given  up  the  struggle,  so  long 
continued.  Even  though  but  a  few  hours  had  passed 
since  the  unequal  strife  with  Edith,  she  was  becoming 
clearly  conscious  that  her  course  of  action  toward  her 
child  had  been  far  from  just  or  humane,  and  that  her 
position  gave  her  no  right  to  exercise  so  tyrannical  an 
influence.  No  longer  compelled,  by  her  own  selfish  pur 
poses,  to  cherish  a  feeling  of  antipathy  toward  Grace, 
she  found  her  heart  beginning  to  flow  forth  toward  the 
lovely  infant.  Such  was  the  nameless  attraction  pos 
sessed  by  the  babe,  that  even  with  all  her  powerful 
reasons  for  wishing  to  annihilate  her,  if  that  were  pos- 


THE  ANGEL  OP  THE  HOUSEHOLD.       175 


sible,  Mrs.  Beaufort  had  not  been  able  to  resist  the  sphere 
of  her  love-inspiring  innocence.  Now,  when  no  barrier 
to  affection  reared  itself,  her  heart  turned  toward  the  in 
fant,  and  opened  itself  with  eagerness  to  take  her  in. 
Quick  to  perceive  the  real  change  in  her  mother's  feel 
ings  toward  Grace,  Edith  placed  the  little  one  in  her 
arms,  and  with  a  thrill  of  exquisite  delight  saw  it  drawn 
impulsively  to  her  bosom.  In  that  moment,  the  work 
of  reconciliation  was  accomplished.  Against  the  winning 
attractions  of  Grace,  Mrs.  Beaufort  had  striven  from  the 
beginning,  but  never  with  perfect  success.  It  was  all  in 
vain,  that,  to  satisfy  pride  and  ambition,  she  had  cast  her 
off;  even  in  the  separation,  her  heart  had  mirrored  the 
babe's  sweet  image;  turned  ever  and  anon  toward  her; 
and  yearned  for  her  restoration.  And  now,  when  she 
came  back  to  brighten,  with  her  seraphic  presence,  the 
darkness  of  their  unhappy  home,  and  no  strong  motive  for 
thrusting  her  out  remained,  her  heart  leaped  toward  her, 
panting  with  its  long-endured  thirst  to  love,  and  re 
ceiving  her  therein  with  joy  and  gladness. 

"  O  mother !"  added  Edith,  as  they  sat  together,  each 
striving  for,  and  feeling  the  way  toward  a  truer  recon 
ciliation,  "  how  vainly  do  we  seek  for  happiness,  if  we 
seek  it  beyond  the  range  of  our  own  true  wants !  We 
must  look  inward — not  outward.  We  must  ask  of  our 
hearts — not  of  the  world — how,  and  where,  and  with 
what  companionship  we  are  to  spend  our  life's  probation. 
As  for  me,  I  desire  nothing  beyond  my  own  home,  and 
an  entire  devotion  of  all  JL  have  and  all  1  am  to  my 
child.  If  that  will  satisfy  me,  why  should  any  one  seek 
my  unhappiness  by  dragging  me  into  uncongenial  spheres, 
or  cursing  me  with  associations  against  which  my  whole 
nature  revolts  with  loathing  ?  As  for  Colonel  D' Arcy — 
I  speak  of  him  now,  because  you  are  better  prepared  to 
understand  me  than  ever  before — his  friendship  even 
oppresses  me.  But,  when  he  seeks  a  nearer  association— 


176       THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD. 

presumes  to  ask  of  me  the  love  given  but  once,  and 
never  to  be  given  again — I  ani  almost  suffocated  with 
disgust.  Yield  him  my  hand,  mother !  Never  while  I 
have  strength  to  bind  it  to  my  side.  I  would  brave  a 
thousand  deaths  in  preference.  He  is  a  bad  man — I 
know  it  by  the  quick  repugnance  that  fills  my  heart 
whenever  he  comes  near  me.  Did  he  possess  a  single 
germ  of  true  manliness,  he  would  not  pursue  me  after  all 
that  has  passed." 

A  servant  interrupted  them  by  announcing  that  a 
strange  man  had  called,  and  asked  to  see  Mrs.  Beaufort. 

"  What  is  his  name  '/"  inquired  the  lady. 

"  He  wishes  to  see  you  a  moment ;  but  would  not  give 
his  name." 

"  What  kind  of  a  looking  man  ?" 

The  servant  described  him. 

"  Say  that  I  will  be  down  in  a  few  moments."  As 
the  servant  withdrew,  the  whole  manner  of  Mrs.  Beaufort 
changed.  "  It  is  Harding,"  said  she. 

Edith  started,  and  turned  pale,  at  the  same  time  lift 
ing  Grace  from  her  mother's  arms. 

"  What  is  to  be  done  ?  How  did  he  find  his  way 
here?" 

"  We  must  see  him,"  said  Mrs.  Beaufort,  after  a  few 
moments  of  hurried  reflection. 

"  Both  of  us  ?" 

"Yes,  Edith,  both  of  us.  And  he  must  see  Grace. 
Nothing  is  left  now,  but  to  conciliate,  and  bring  him,  a 
certain  degree,  into  our  confidence.  He  and  his  wife 
proved  faithful  to  the  trust  reposed  in  them.  They 
loved  our  little  Grace  truly,  and  cared  for  her  tenderly ; 
and  they  must  have  their  reward.  There  was  a  fine 
manliness  about  his  conduct  last  night,  that  raised  him 
high  in  my  estimation.  I  think  he  can  be  trusted." 

"But  he  frightened  me  so,  mother:  he  spoke  so 
harshly,  and  seemed  so  cruel." 


THE  ANGEL  OP  THE  HOUSEHOLD.       177 


"  Was  he  not  right,  Edith,  in  seeking  to  prevent  our 
taking  away  the  babe,  strangers  as  we  were,  and  re 
fusing,  as  we  did,  to  give  any  satisfaction  as  to  our  per 
sonality?  He  was  right,  and  I  approved  his  inanly 
firmness  at  the  time." 

"  I  wish  you  would  meet  him  alone,  mother." 

"  I  do  not  think  that  will  be  best,"  replied  Mrs.  Beau 
fort.  "  We  must  not  let  him  see  that  we  are  afraid  of 
him.  Our  relations  are  very  different  from  what  they 
were  last  evening ;  and  if  we  show  a  consciousness  of  our 
real  position,  he  will  not  be  slow  to  perceive  his  own." 

The  room  into  which  the  carpenter  had  been  shown 
was  a  large  parlour,  richly  furnished,  its  six  windows 
draped  with  heavy  curtains  of  red  satin  damask.  Around 
the  walls  were  hung  many  pictures,  among  which  his 
eyes  soon  recognised  his  two  visitors  of  the  previous 
night,  Mrs.  Beaufort  and  her  daughter.  The  portrait  of 
Edith  had  been  taken  some  five  years  previous,  and, 
while  it  still  bore  to  her  a  striking  resemblance,  had  all 
the  innocent  sweetness  of  gentle  girlhood.  As  he  gazed, 
with  a  kind  of  fascination,  upon  this  pictured  counte 
nance,  it  seemed  to  change  and  grow  life-like,  and  he 
almost  started  to  his  feet  as  he  saw  the  eyes  of  dear  little 
Grace  looking  down,  with  a  loving  expression,  from  the 
canvas.  He  was  scarcely  freed  from  the  illusion,  when 
he  became  aware  that  footsteps  drew  near  the  door. 
Turning,  he  met  the  calm,  dignified  face  of  Mrs.  Beau 
fort,  and  the  pale,  timid,  half-frightened  countenance  of 
her  daughter,  who  held  the  babe  he  had  lost  closely 
drawn  to  her  bosom. 

"  Mr.  Harding !"  said  Mrs.  Beaufort,  speaking  with 
entire  self-possession,  and  giving  her  hand  to  the  car 
penter  as  she  advanced  to  meet  him.  "  So  you  have 
found  us,  my  good  friend,"  she  added ;  "  and  it  is,  per 
haps,  as  well.  We  had  powerful  reasons  for  desiring  to 
remain  unknown.  Under  the  circumstances,  this  was 


178       THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD. 


hardly  possible.  You,  at  least,  were  not  to  be  baffled  in 
your  search,  as  this  early  visit  testifies.  Sit  down,  Mr. 
Harding.  We  had  better  understand  each  other  fully." 

Harding  was  somewhat  bewildered  by  the  calmness  of 
his  reception.  From  the  dignified  countenance  of  Mrs. 
Beaufort,  his  eyes  turned  to  the  sweet  babe  that  lay  so 
closely  drawn  against  the  breast  of  its  mother :  as  they 
did  so,  a  softened  expression  passed  over  his  rough  face. 

"  Grace !  Grace  !"  he  said,  tenderly,  and  advancing, 
reached  out  his  hands. 

Edith  moved  off  a  pace  or  two ;  but  the  little  one,  the 
moment  she  heard  the  well-known  voice,  started  up,  and, 
with  a  glad  murmur,  fluttered  her  rosy  fingers,  and  leaned 
eagerly  forward,  while  her  whole  face  was  lit  up  with 
a  joyful  recognition.  Edith  drew  her  back,  while  an  ex 
pression  of  anxiety  and  alarm  dimmed  her  countenance. 

u  Let  her  come  to  me,  ma'am,"  said  the  carpenter,  in 
a  respectful  voice — it  trembled  with  feeling. 

Edith  glanced  toward  the  door,  fearfully.  Harding 
understood  the  meaning  of  this. 

"  You  need  not  mistrust  me,  ma'am."  He  stepped  to 
the  door,  and  closed  it.  As  he  returned  to  where  she 
stood,  he  continued — "  Jacob  Harding  has  gone  thus 
far  in  life  without  a  treacherous  action,  and  he  will  not 
violate  his  honour  now.  Let  her  come  to  me ;  oh !  let 
her  come  !  Let  me  feel  the  dear  one  again  in  my  arms, 
where  she  has  lain  so  many,  many  times." 

Mrs.  Beaufort,  seeing  that  her  daughter  still  hesitated, 
took  Grace  from  her  arms,  and  placed  her  in  those  of  the 
carpenter.  As  Harding  received  the  precious  burden, 
he  clasped  her  passionately,  and  spoke  to  her  in  the 
most  endearing  tones.  The  little  one  answered  him  with 
her  sweet  love-language,  and  even  drew  her  tiny  arms 
about  his  neck.  How  wildly  he  kissed  her  !  Dim  were 
his  eyes  as  he  restored  her  to  her  mother ;  and  he  spoke 
not,  for  emotion  was  too  strong. 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD.       179 

"I  am  foolish,"  he  said,  as  he  recovered  himself. 
"  It  is  not  manly,  I  know ;  but  that  child  has,  from  the 
beginning,  softened  my  heart,  until  it  has  become  weak 
as  a  woman's.  How  you  could  ever  have  parted  with 
her'; — this  thought  restored  his  self-possession,  and  he 
spoke  with  something  of  a  rebuking  sternness — "  passes 
my  comprehension." 

"  And  it  passes  mine !  it  passes  mine !"  murmured 
Edith,  speaking  to  herself,  as  she  bent  lower  over  the 
babe,  which  the  carpenter  had  restored  to  her  arms. 

"As  for  the  past,"  said  Mrs.  Beaufort — she  spoke 
with  a  calmness  and  self-possession  that  had  its  effect  on 
Harding — "  that  must  sleep,  my  friend,  with  its  errors 
and  sufferings,  as  far  as  memory  will  let  it  sleep.  All  I 
will  say  of  it  to  you  is,  that  I  had  ambitious  views  in  re 
gard  to  my  daughter,  which  she  frustrated  by  a  secret 
marriage.  The  death  of  her  young  husband,  a  few 
months  afterward,  and  while  I  was  yet  able  to  prevent 
the  fact  from  becoming  known,  revived  all  my  ambitious 
hopes.  The  birth  of  this  child  I  was  able  to  conceal ; 
and,  moreover,  succeeded  in  so  overshadowing  the  mind 
of  its  mother,  as  to  induce  her,  in  a  moment  of  partial 
derangement,  to  abandon  it  at  your  door — not  yours  by 
choice,  but  by  accident.  The  rest  you  know.  The  mo 
ther's  heart  was  too  strong  in  my  child.  Her  babe  is 
again  on  her  bosom,  and  "there  it  must  remain.  Her 
grateful  thanks  are  yours  for  the  tenderness  with  which 
you  have  cared  for  the  babe ;  and  she  will  not  let  her 
gratitude,  believe  me,  rest  in  her  mind  a  fruitless  senti 
ment.  For  the  present,  all  we  ask  of  you  is  discretion. 
Let  the  knowledge  of  our  personality  in  connection  with 
this  matter  remain  wholly  with  you  and  your  wife.  Of 
course  the  babe  must  now  be  acknowledged,  and  we  shall 
proceed,  without  delay,  to  give  public,  indisputable  evi 
dence  of  my  daughter's  marriage.  As  to  the  abandon 
ment  of  the  child,  with  the  circumstances  attending  it, 


180  THE   ANGEL   OF   THE    HOUSEHOLD. 

if  all  becomes  known  in  each  minute  particular,  we  shall 
suffer  strong  opprobrium.  Very  naturally,  I  wish  to 
escape  this  myself,  and  especially  to  save  my  daughter 
from  the  charge  of  having  abandoned  to  strangers,  of 
whom  she  knew  nothing,  her  own  tender  infant.  Can 
we  trust  in  your  prudence?  Will  you  not  bind  your 
selves  to  us — you  and  your  wife — by  a  new  debt  of 
gratitude  ?" 

It  was  some  time  before  Harding  made  any  answer. 
His  mind  was  bewildered  by  what  Mrs.  Beaufort  said. 
Plain  enough  was  it,  that  the  angel  of  their  household 
was  to  return  to  them  no  more;  and  the  shadow  already 
on  his  heart  fell  colder  and  darker. 

"  All  does  not  lie  with  us,"  he  remarked,  scarcely  re 
flecting  on  what  he  said. 

"  Why  not  on  you  ?" 

Mrs.  Beaufort  spoke  anxiously. 

"  The  dressmaker  you  saw  at  Mrs.  Barclay's  yesterday 
directed  my  suspicions  toward  you." 

«  What  1" 

Mrs.  Beaufort  grew  excited. 

"  Miss  G-imp  told  me  that  you  manifested  a  singular 
interest  in  us  and  the  babe.  I  asked  her  to  describe 
you,  and  knew  you  by  the  description  in  a  moment; 
therefore  I  am  here." 

"  Bad — bad.     That  is  bad.     I  was  imprudent." 

Mrs.  Beaufort  spoke  to  herself. 

"  I  have  also  seen  Mrs.  Hartley  of  Orerton." 

The  face  of  Mrs.  Beaufort  flushed. 

"  She  knew  you  by  my  description." 

"Well?" 

"  But  refused  to  say  who  you  was  or  where  I  could 
find  you,  unless  I  gave  her  my  entire  confidence." 

«  Which  you " 

"Did  not,"  replied  Harding.  "Every  thing  was  so 
much  involved  in  mystery,  that  I  chose  to  be  discreet." 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD.       181 


"That  was  well.  But  Miss  .Gimp — does  she  know  of 
what  took  place  last  night?" 

"  No  one  knows  it  out  of  my  family,  except  Mr.  Long, 
the  schoolmaster,  whose  prudence  is  altogether  to  be 
relied  on." 

It  was  now  Mrs.  Beaufort's  turn  to  be  silent.  For 
many  minutes  she  sat  revolving  in  her  mind  all  the  diffi 
cult  aspects  of  the  affair  in  which  she  had  become  in 
volved.  At  length  she  said — 

"  Mr.  Harding,  all  we  ask  of  you  now  is,  entire  silence 
to  every  one  for  the  present,  in  regard  to  what  has  trans 
pired.  We  will  offer  you  no  personal  inducement  to  se 
cure  this,  for  that  would  be  an  insult  to  your  manliness 
of  character.  But  you  have  laid  us,  and  can  still  lay 
us,  under  a  heavy  burden  of  gratitude.  May  we  trust 
you?" 

"  As  entirely  as  you  can  trust  yourselves,"  was  the 
unhesitating  answer.  "I  see  no  good  that  can  arise 
from  bruiting  the  matter  abroad.  Why,  then,  shall  it 
be  done  ?  But  there  is  one  thing  I  must  ask." 

"  Name  it." 

"  The  privilege  for  my  wife  of  seeing  the  babe.  Ah, 
ma'am !  you  know  not  how  she  loves  it.  For  many 
weeks  it  slept  in  her  bosom,  until  it  has  grown  to  be  a 
part  of  herself.  You  know  not  her  distress  at  its  loss. 
Her  eyes  have  been  full  of  tears  ever  since.  To  us  all, 
the  child  has  been  as  an  angel.  Strife  has  ceased  in  its 
blessed  presence,  and  the  lowest  murmur  of  its  sweet 
voice  has  been  a  l  Peace,  be  still/  to  the  wildest  storm 
of  passion." 

"  Bring  her  here  to-morrow,"  said  Mrs.  Beaufort,  with 
a  good-will  in  her  voice,  that  betokened  her  earnestness. 
"  We  would  send  our  carriage,  but  for  reasons  that  need 
not  be  suggested  to  you." 

"Yes;   bring  her  over,"   added  Edith.     "I  wish  to 
16 


182       THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD. 


see  her  and  know  her.  She  has  laid  my  heart  under  a 
debt  of  gratitude." 

Harding  arose.  "  Once  more  let  me  feel  her  in  my 
arms/'  said  he,  as  he  fixed  his  eyes  lovingly  on  the 
infant. 

The  timid  mother  did  not  hesitate,  but  resigned  to 
him  the  babe,  that  looked  up  fondly  in  his  face,  and 
smiled  its  sweetest  smile. 

"  God  bless  you  and  keep  you."  Harding  spoke  with 
deep  feeling.  He  could  say  no  more.  Kissing  the 
pure  lips  and  brow  many  times  fervently,  he  handed  the 
babe  back  to  her  mother.  As  soon  as  he  had  recovered 
his  self-possession,  he  withdrew  formally,  saying  that  he 
would  see  them,  in  company  with  his  wife,  some  time 
during  the  next  day.  A  few  minutes  afterward,  he  was 
galloping  homeward  as  fast  as  his  horse's  feet  would 
carry  him. 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD.       183 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

THOUGH  removed  from  them,  as  to  bodily  presence, 
the  angel  of  their  household  still  remained  with  the  car 
penter  and  his  family.  Not  a  member  thereof,  from  the 
rugged  father  down  to  little  Lotty,  but  saw  ever  before 
the  eyes  of  their  spirits,  the  dear  young  face  that 
brought  sunlight  into  their  darkened  dwelling;  but  they 
saw  her  with  tear-moistened  vision.  She  was  no  longer 
theirs  in  physical  actuality ;  but  present  as  in  a  dream 
that  is  never  forgotten.  Subdued  even  to  sadness,  the 
intercourse  between  the  members  of  the  family  was 
marked  by  a  tender  regard,  the  one  for  the  other.  Each 
felt  the  other's  grief  at  the  loss  of  Grace,  and  desired  to 
lighten  instead  of  increasing  its  pressure.  As  for  Lotty, 
since  Grace  left  them,  she  had  sought  to  win  for  herself 
that  regard  in  her  mother's  heart  which  the  stranger  had 
occupied.  She  was  too  young  for  reflection,  and  only 
obeyed  a  heaven-inspired  instinct.  And  as  she  knocked 
at  the  too  long  closed  door  of  her  mother's  heart,  that 
door  gradually  yielded,  until  at  last  the  rusty  hinges  op 
posed  no  resistance,  and  it  swung  wide  open  to  take 
her  in. 

The  intelligence  brought  back  from  Clifton,  while  it 
set  the  tears  of  Mrs.  Harding  to  flowing  afresh,  because 
it  extinguished  all  hope  of  the  babe's  restoration  to  her 
arms,  relieved  her  mind  greatly.  There  was  a  certainty 
about  this  intelligence,  that  settled  the  doubtful  question 
of  its  fate.  It  was,  and  would  be  well  with  the  child. 
Her  love  for  it  could  ask  no  more,  though  her  heart  was 
bleeding  from  the  separation. 

To  the  eager  questions  of  the  children — "  Where  is 


18i       THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD. 


Grace  ?"  "  Have  you  seen  Grace,  father  ?"  "  Isn't  she 
coming  back  anymore?" — Mr.  Harding  answered  with 
as  much  information  in  regard  to  her  as  he  deemed  pru 
dent,  assuring  them,  at  the  same  time,  that  if  Grace  did 
not  come  to  them  again,  they  should  go  to  see  her. 

During  the  evening,  Mr.  Long,  the  schoolmaster, 
called  to  learn  the  result  of  Harding' s  visit  to  Clifton. 
To  him,  as  a  friend  fully  to  be  confided  in,  the  carpenter 
related  the  occurrences  of  the  day. 

"  She  has  been  such  a  blessing,  such  a  comfort  to  us," 
said  Mrs.  Harding,  as  they  sat  talking  of  Grace. 

"  God  has  given  you  many  comforts,  many  blessings," 
answered  the  schoolmaster,  as  he  glanced  meaningly 
toward  her  children,  who  were  all  present,  quiet,  half- 
wondering  auditors.  Andrew,  over  whom  Mr.  Long  had 
already  acquired  great  influence,  was  standing  beside  his 
teacher,  proud  of  the  notice  and  gratified  with  the  kind 
ness  ever  extended  to  him  by  his  judicious  friend ;  while 
Lotty,  who  had  climbed  into  her  mother's  lap,  was  lying 
close  against  her  breast,  looking  contented — even  happy. 

It  was  on  the  lips  of  Mrs.  Harding  to  reply,  "  If  they 
were  only  like  Grace."  But  her  conscience  rebuked 
her  for  the  thought  ere  it  found  utterance,  and  she  re 
mained  silent.  But  she  took  the  lesson  to  her  heart, 
and  as  she  did  so,  drew  her  arm  involuntarily  tighter 
around  Lotty,  who,  feeling  the  pressure,  looked  up  at  her 
mother  with  a  smile  of  love.  In  return,  the  soft  cheek 
of  the  mother  was  bent  down  until  it  rested  on  the  sunny 
hair  of  her  child. 

The  schoolmaster  saw  that  he  was  clearly  understood, 
and  did  not  mar  the  good  impression  of  his  words  by 
seeking  to  enforce  their  meaning. 

On  the  next  morning,  quite  early,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hard 
ing,  accompanied  by  Lotty,  started  for  Clifton.  They 
had  to  pass  the  door  of  Miss  Gimp,  the  dressmaker,  on 
their  way,  and  she  failed  not  to  discover  the  fact  that  the 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD.       185 


carpenter  and  his  wife  were  riding  out  together — an 
event  too  noteworthy  to  be  regarded  with  indifference. 

"  What  does  this  mean  ?     Where  are  they  going  ?" 

Such  were  her  rather  excited  questions,  as  she  laid 
aside  her  work,  and  took  her  place  at  the  window,  to  note 
the  direction  they  would  take. 

"Over  to  Clifton?  Hardly.  Yes— I  declare  !— if 
they  haven't  taken  the  road  to  Clifton !  Ah,  ha ! 
There's  something  in  the  wind.  I  wonder  if  they  can 
be  going  over  to  Mrs.  Beaufort's.  I  thought  I  could  see 
deeper  into  the  mind  of  Mrs.  Harding  than  she  cared  for. 
I  was  sure  she  knew  more  about  Mrs.  Beaufort  than  was 
pretended.  But  whose  child  is  it  ?  I'd  give  my  little 
finger  to  know." 

Unable  to  work  with  this  mystery  on  her  mind,  Miss 
Gimp  drew  on  her  bonnet,  and  ran  over  to  see  Mrs. 
Willits,  the  storekeeper's  wife,  for  just  a  minute. 

"  Our  carpenter  is  getting  up  in  the  world,"  said  she, 
as  soon  as  she  could  thrust  in  the  words,  after  meeting 
her  friend. 

"  So  I  should  think,"  answered  Mrs.  Willits,  who  had 
seen  Harding  go  by;  "riding  out  with  his  wife  at  a 
time  when  other  people  are  at  work.  My  husband  can't 
afford  such  indulgence." 

"  They  were  always  a  shiftless  set." 

Miss  Gimp  spoke  with  some  indignation.  She  could 
not  forgive  Mrs.  Harding  for  the  impenetrable  reserve 
she  had  thrown  around  herself  at  their  interview  on  the 
previous  afternoon — a  reserve  felt  to  be  both  a  wrong 
and  an  insult. 

"And  will  come  to  beggary  in  the  end,"  said  Mrs. 
Willits.  "It  was  only  last  evening  that  I  heard  Mr. 
Grant  going  on  about  Harding  at  a  great  rate.  It  ap 
pears  that  he  had  promised  to  call  over  early  in  the 
morning  to  consult  with  him  in  regard  to  a  job  that 
Grant,  the  farmer,  wanted  done.  Mr.  Grant  waited  at 
16* 


186  THE   ANGEL   OF   THE    HOUSEHOLD. 


home  until  dinner-time,  but  no  carpenter  came.  It  made 
him  terribly  angry.  He  stopped  at  our  store  in  the 
evening,  and  the  way  he  talked  about  Harding  would 
have  done  you  good  to  hear.  He  gave  it  to  him  right 
and  left,  I  can  assure  you/' 

"  Didn't  keep  his  promise  with  him  ?" 

"Not  he  —  Mr.  Indifference  or  Mr.  Independence, 
whichever  you  choose  to  call  him." 

"  Mr.  Shiftless,  you'd  better  say." 

"  Well,  Mr.  Shiftless,  then.  And  now  he's  playing 
the  gentleman — riding  out  with  his  wife  as  coolly  as  if 
he  hadn't  lost  a  good  job  !" 

"  Mr.  Grant  won't  have  any  thing  more  to  do  with 
him?" 

Miss  Gimp  spoke  with  a  kind  of  pleased  inquiry. 

"Not  he." 

"  Serves  him  right." 

"  Of  course  it  does.  He  said  that  early  this  morning 
he  would  go  to  Beechwood  and  engage  a  carpenter 
there;  and  he  swore — for  he  was  in  a  great  passion — 
that  if  Harding  starved,  he'd  never  handle  a  dollar  of  his 
money  so  long  as  he  lived." 

"  I  don't  blame  him,"  said  Miss  Gimp. 

"  Nobody  can  blame  him,"  responded  Mrs.  Willits. 

"  D'ye  know,"  remarked  the  dressmaker,  lowering  her 
voice,  and  speaking  mysteriously,  "  that  in  my  opinion 
something  more  than  a  mere  pleasure  ride  takes  them 
out  this  morning." 

"  What  are  they  after  ?  where  are  they  going  ?"  in 
quired  Mrs.  Willits,  brightening  up  at  this  intimation  on 
the  part  of  Miss  Gimp. 

"  They  took  the  road  to  Clifton,  I'm  certain." 

"  To  Clifton  !  Well,  what  great  and  mighty  business 
takes  them  over  to  Clifton,  I'd  like  to  know  ?" 

"  Something  about  that  child  they've  got;  I'll  venture 
my  existence,"  said  Miss  Gimp. 


THE  ANGEL  OP  THE  HOUSEHOLD.       187 

"  What  of  it  ?" 

Mrs.  Willits  brightened  up  still  more. 

"  I  think  I  can  guess  where  it  came  from." 

"  Indeed 1" 

"  Of  course,  it  is  only  guess-work ;  but,  in  putting 
this  and  that  together,  you  know,  we  often  get  very  near 
the  truth.  I've  been  sewing  at  Mrs.  Barclay's  in  Beech- 
wood." 

"  Yes." 

"  You've  heard  of  Mrs.  General  Beaufort,  who  lives  in 
Clifton?" 

"  Yes." 

"Well,  I  never  knew  it  before;  but  she's  the  sister 
of  Mr.  Barclay." 

"Is  she?" 

"  Yes.  And  she  came  over  to  see  her  brother  about 
something  while  I  was  there." 

"  Well  ?" 

"  One  day,  when  all  the  family  were  out,  she  came 
into  the  room  where  I  was  alone,  sewing,  and  made  her 
self  quite  sociable.  After  talking  around  a  while,  she 
asked  if  I  knew  Harding  and  his  family.  I  said  that  I 
did.  Then  she  wanted  to  know  what  kind  of  people 
they  were.  Of  course,  I  couldn't  give  them  a  very 
exalted  character,  and  didn't.  .It  was  plain  enough  to 
be  seen  that  she  had  some  secret  interest  in  them.  Who 
first  spoke  of  that  little  foundling  baby,  I  can't  now  re 
member  ;  but  the  moment  it  was  named,  I  saw  that  she 
knew  a  great  deal  more  about  it  than  she  cared  me  to 
guess.  In  order  to  bring  her  out,  I  spoke  of  Harding 
and  his  wife  in  the  strongest  manner — taking  good  care 
to  say,  that  in  placing  that  child  in  their  hands,  it  was 
like  putting  a  lamb  among  wolves.  She  grew  uneasy 
and  excited  at  this ;  so  much  so,  that  she  clearly  felt  that 
fihe  was  betraying  herself,  and  left  me  abruptly.  That 
afternoon  she  went  away,  very  unexpectedly  to  the  fa- 


188  THE   ANGEL   OP  THE  HOUSEHOLD. 

mily.  Depend  upon  it,  Mrs.  Willits,  she  knows  all 
about  that  baby." 

"Why  don't  you  .go  to  see  Mrs.  Harding,  and  feel 
around  her  ?"  inquired  the  storekeeper's  wife,  who  had 
become  much  interested  in  the  dressmaker's  gossip. 

"  I've  been  already,"  answered  Miss  Gimp.  "  I  came 
away  from  Mrs.  Barclay's  a  day  sooner  than  I  intended, 
and  on  purpose." 

"  Ah  ?    Well,  what  did  you  make  out  of  her  ?." 

"Nothing  certain.  I  saw  Harding  and  his  wife,  but 
they  were  as  close-mouthed  as  terrapins." 

"  Did  you  speak  to  them  of  Mrs.  Beaufort  ?" 

"  Yes  j  and  its  just  my  opinion  that  they  got  out  of 
me  all  I  know,  and  didn't  let  me  see  below  the  surface 
of  their  thoughts.  I  was  so  provoked  !" 

"  And  so  you  learned  nothing  ?"  said  Mrs.  Willits. 

"Nothing  certain.  But  it  takes  sharper  people  than 
they  are  to  hide  things  from  my  eyes.  That  both  were 
greatly  interested  in  Mrs.  Beaufort,  and  knew  far  more 
about  her  than  they  chose  to  tell,  was  plain  enough  ;  and 
that  their  ride  over  to  Clifton,  this  morning,  is  to  see 
her,  I  do  not  in  the  last  doubt." 

"  I  shouldn't  wonder  at  all,"  remarked  Mrs.  Willits. 
"  Mrs.  General  Beaufort !  That  is  news.  Has  she  a 
daughter  ?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  replied  Miss  Gimp. 

"Why  didn't  you  ask  Mrs.  Barclay  ?" 

"Just  what  I've  said  to  myself  twenty  times  over. 
I'm  provoked  to  death  at  my  own  stupidity." 

"  How  soon  are  you  going  over  there  again  ?" 

"  I  can't  tell.  I  don't  think  Mrs.  Barclay  will  want 
me  very  soon." 

"  We  must  find  out  in  some  way." 

"Yes,  indeed.  I'll  not  rest  until  I  know  all  about  it. 
You  remember  that  Harry  Wilkins  saw  a  woman  carrying 
a  basket  on  the  night  the  child  was  left  at  Harding's"?" 


THE   ANGEL   OP   THE   HOUSEHOLD.  189 

"Yes." 

"Very  well.  He  told  me  that  he's  certain  he  saw  the 
same  woman,  riding  in  a  carriage,  in  the  neighbourhood 
of  Clifton.  Put  this  and  that  together,  Mrs.  Willits,  and 
it  isn't  very  hard  to  make  out  a  case." 

"  I  should  think  not.  Depend  upon  it,  you're  fairly 
on  the  track.  Harding  isn't  riding  out,  this  morning, 
for  nothing.  Had  they  the  baby  with  them  ?" 

"  That  I  couldn't  see.  I  tried  my  best  to  look  over 
into  Mrs.  Harding's  arms,  but  her  husband  was  on  the 
side  next  to  me,  and  though  I  got  up  into  a  chair,  it  wa3 
of  no  use.  But  I  shouldn't  at  all  wonder." 

"  I'll  tell  you  how  you  can  find  out." 

"How?" 

"  Just  by  running  over  to  their  house  for  a  minute. 
Of  course,  nobody's  at  home  but  the  children." 

"  That's  it,"  replied  Miss  Gimp,  starting  up.  "  I'll 
go  this  instant."  And  she  stepped  toward  the  door. 

"  Don't  forget  to  stop  as  you  come  back,"  said  the 
storekeeper's  wife. 

"Oh  !  no.     I'll  be  sure  to  call. 

And  Miss  Gimp  left  with  the  sprightly  step  of  a 
young  girl  of  sixteen.  In  some  twenty  minutes,  she  re 
turned. 

"  Well  ?"  said  Mrs.  Willits,  as  she  came  in. 

"  No  child  there,"  answered  the  dressmaker. 

"No?     Indeed?" 

"  True  as  preaching." 

"  Where  is  it  ?" 

Miss  Gimp  shook  her  head. 

"  Who  was  there  ?" 

"  Only  Philip  and  Lucy." 

"Couldn't  they  tell?"' 

"  They  couldn't,  or  wouldn't — which,  I  am  at  a  loss  to 
say.  I  never  saw  such  mum,  stupid  little  wretches  in 
my  life." 


190  THE  ANGEL   OF  THE   HOUSEHOLD. 

"Did  you  ask  them  where  their  father  and  mother 
had  gone  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  What  answer  did  they  make  ?" 

"  Said  they  didn't  know." 

"  They  lied,  I  suppose — instructed  by  their  parents." 

"As  like  as  not,"  answered  Miss  Gimp.  "But  isn't 
it  dreadful  to  think  of  ?  Who  can  wonder  if  they  go  to 
destruction  ?" 

"  Nobody.     And  so  the  child  is  gone  ?" 

"  Yes.  No  doubt  they  took  it  with  them,  this  morn 
ing.  But  Til  find  out  all  about  it,  by  hook  or  by  crook, 
see  if  I  don't." 

And  with  this  assurance,  the  dressmaker,  who  had  a 
good  deal  of  work  on  hand,  to  be  ready  by  a  certain  time, 
took  her  departure  to  renew  her  vain  efforts  at  meeting 
her  engagements.  To  promise  was  a  part  of  her  profes 
sion — and  not  to  keep  these  promises  to  the  letter,  the 
other  part.  Having  the  interests  of  the  whole  neigh 
bourhood  to  attend  to,  it  was  impossible  to  be  entirely 
punctual  in  such  unimportant  matters. 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD.      191 


CHAPTER  XX. 

IT  was  past  midday  when  the  carpenter  and  his  wife 
returned  from  Clifton,  each  with  sober  but  not  troubled 
countenances.  Their  anxieties  about  the  babe's  welfare 
were  fully  satisfied;  but  they  came  back  with  the  sad 
assurance  that  its  sweet  smile  had  faded  from  their  home 
for  ever — that  an  angel  had  departed  from  among  them, 
and  with  it,  they  feared,  the  sweet,  angelic  influences 
that,  in  so  brief  a  time,  had  made  their  desert  to  blossom 
as  the  rose. 

A  hurried  dinner  was  prepared,  and  then  Harding  went 
to  his  shop,  that  had  now  been  closed  for  nearly  two  whole 
days.  It  was  his  intention  to  go  from  there,  immediately, 
to  farmer  Grant's  to  make  ararngements  about  the  new 
roof,  which  he  had  promised  to  attend  to  immediately. 
He  was  just  on  the  eve  of  doing  so  when  a  neighbour 
stopped  at  the  door,  and  said — 

"  Why,  what's  been  the  matter,  Harding  ?  I  was  about 
going  over  to  your  house,  to  see  if  you  were  sick  or 
dead." 

"I've  had  a  little  business  to  attend  to,  which  has 
taken  all  my  time  for  nearly  two  days,"  replied  the 
carpenter;  "but  I'm  through  with  it  now,  and  at  my 
post  again." 

"  You've  lost  a  job  by  it,  I'm  thinking,"  said  the 
neighbour. 

"How  so?" 

"I  heard  Grant  abusing  you  right  and  left  for  not 
keeping  an  engagement,  yesterday  morning.  He  said 
you  promised  to  come  over  and  see  him  about  a  new  roof 
to  his  barn ;  and  that  he  waited  in  for  you  a  greater  part 


192  THE   ANGEL   OF   THE   HOUSEHOLD. 

of  the  day.  He  was  dreadfully  put  out;  and  in  the 
afternoon,  rode  over  to  Beechwood,  and  engaged  a  car 
penter  there." 

"  Are  you  sure  of  that  ?"  asked  Harding,  as  his  coun 
tenance  fell. 

"  Very  sure.     I  saw  him  riding  over,  myself." 

"  I'm  sorry.  If  he'd  known  why  I  was  unable  to  keep 
my  engagement,  he  would  not  have  acted  so  hastily.  I 
was,  this  moment,  about  going  to  see  him." 

"  It  won't  be  of  any  use,  I  can  tell  you.  Why  didn't 
ou  send  him  word  that  it  was  out  of  your  power  to  see 


I 


1111 


Ml 


"I  should  have  done  so,  but  didn't  think  of  it." 

"  And,  what  is  more,"  said  the  neighbour,  "  Mr.  Edgar 
was  going  to  engage  you  to  build  an  addition  to  his  house ; 
but  Grant  talked  so  strong  about  you — saying,  among 
other  things,  that  you  were  not  to  be  depended  upon — 
that  he  concluded  to  employ  another  carpenter.  So  you 
see,  this  l  little  business'  of  yours  has  proved  rather  a  bad 
business.  But,  good  morning  !  I  mustn't  stop  here." 

The  neighbour  departed.  As  he  turned  his  back,  Hard 
ing  folded  his  arms,  and  leaning  hard  against  his  work 
bench,  gave  way  to  feelings  of  despondency,  not  un- 
niingled  with  reproaches  toward  Heaven  for  the  hard 
ness,  even  injustice,  of  these  cruel  reactions. 

."I've  done  nothing  to  merit  this,"  said  he,  in  partial 
utterance  of  his  true  feelings.  "  Nothing  !  nothing  ! 
Then  why  am  I  left  without  work,  though  my  hands  are 
strong  and  my  heart  willing  ?  God  never  hedges  up  a 
man's  way  in  one  direction  without  opening  it  in  another 
— so  says  the  schoolmaster — and  so  I  began  to  think 
when  Grant  came  with  the  offer  of  one  job  after  I  had 
lost  another.  But  now  the  way  that  opened  so  encou 
ragingly  before  me  is  closed,  even  before  I  had  set  my 
foot  therein.  I  wonder  in  which  direction  it  will  now 
open  ?" 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD.       193 

The  bitterness  of  distrust  was  in  both  Harding's  voice 
and  countenance. 

'•  There's  no  use  in  folding  your  arms  and  standing 
idle,"  said  a  voice,  speaking  within  him. 

"  Of  course,  not.  But  what  am  I  to  do  ?.  There's  not 
a  single  stroke  of  work,  on  hand/'  The  carpenter  an 
swered  his  own  thought  thus,  speaking  aloud. 

"  Do  something — make  something.  There  are  lumber 
and  tools  in  your  shop." 

As  the  inward  voice  said  this,  the  eyes  of  Harding 
rested  on  a  half-finished  pine  table,  which  he  had  com 
menced  in  an  idle  hour,  and  thrown  aside  for  other  work. 
It  was  suggested  to  him  to  complete  the  table  rather  than 
not  do  any  thing.  This  suggestion  he  resisted  for  a  time, 
because  he  had  no  heart  to  work,  particularly  as  the 
work  promised  no  return. 

"  Finish  the  table.     Somebody  will  want  it." 

The  voice  spoke  again.  With  something  like  blind 
obedience  to  this  inward  monitor,  the  carpenter  com 
menced  working  on  the  table.  The  effort  naturally  re 
lieved  his  mind  from  the  heavy  pressure  under  which  it 
was  bowed  down.  He  felt  better,  but  did  not  know  why. 
He  had  yet  to  learn  that  in  all  useful  work  the  mind 
rests  with  a  degree  of  calmness  j  that  there  is  a  power 
in  true  mental  or  bodily  labour,  to  sustain  the  spirit  in 
doubt,  pain,  or  sorrow.  Once  engaged  in  his  task,  he 
pursued  it  with  a  natural  ardour,  and,  at  the  end  of  two 
hours,  a  well-made  table  stood  finished  in  his  shop.  He 
was  looking  at  it  with  a  certain  degree  of  pleasure,  when 
Stark,  who  had  been  very  shy  of  him  for  some  weeks, 
presented  himself  at  the  shop-door. 

"  The  very  article  I  want,"  said  the  tavern-keeper, 
as  his  eyes  fell  on  the  table.  "Is  it  to  order,  or  on 
sale  ?" 

"  Three  dollars  of  anybody's  money  will  buy  it,"  an 
swered  the  carpenter. 

17 


194       THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD. 

" Enough  said,"  returned  Stark,  drawing  out  his  purse. 
{l  Here's  the  coin.  I'll  send  my  Tom  over  for  it  in  half 
an  hour.  And,  see  here,  Harding,  if  you've  got  time,  I 
wish  you'd  make  me  two  good,  strong  benches,  about 
eight  feet  long.  Some  chaps  got  to  skylarking  over  in 
niy  house  last  night,  and  smashed  one  all  to  pieces  for 
me.  How  much  will  you  charge  for  them  ?" 

The  carpenter  took  a  piece  of  chalk,  and  figured  up 
the  cost  of  the  wood. 

"  Two  dollars  apiece,"  said  he. 

"Very  well.  Make  them.  How  soon  will  they  be 
done?" 

"  As  I've  nothing  particular  on  hand  to-day,  I'll  get 
out  the  stuff  this  afternoon,  and  finish  them  some  time 
early  in  the  morning." 

"That  will  do."  And  the  tavern-keeper  went  hia 
way,  leaving  three  dollars  in  the  carpenter's  pocket,  and 
his  mind  something  easier.  The  stuff  for  the  two  benches 
was  got  out,  and  the  work  on  both  nearly  completed  by 
sundown,  when  Harding  closed  his  shop  and  returned 
home.  On  his  way,  the  gloomy,  desponding  state  of 
mind  returned.  As  he  looked  into  the  future,  only  a 
wall  of  darkness  loomed  up  before  him.  His  best  cus 
tomers  had  left  him — the  season  was  advanced — and  no 
ground  to  build  a  hope  upon  was  under  his  feet.  Mrs. 
Harding  saw  the  heavy  contraction  of  his  brows  as  he 
entered,  and  it  caused  a  shadow  to  fall  upon  her  heart. 
Had  the  evil  spirit,  which  the  presence  of  Grace  drove 
out,  come  back  to  him  again  ?  Alas  !  alas  !  if  it  were  so  ! 
Yes,  the  evil  spirit  had  come  back,  but,  as  yet,  its  power 
over  him  was  small.  It  lay  in  his  breast  as  a  live  coal, 
and  only  waited  for  the  fuel  of  excitement  to  kindle  a 
blaze  of  destructive  passion.  Happily,  that  fuel  was 
not  supplied.  There  was  nothing  in  his  home  to  fret  or 
disturb  him.  His  wife  spoke  to  him  so  kindly,  that  he 
could  not  but  answer  kindly,  and  the  children  were  so 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD.       195 


quiet  among  themselves,  that  no  cause  of  annoyance  or 
anger  existed  in  that  direction.  Still,  he  remained  gloomy, 
almost  entirely  silent. 

"  I  don't  know  what  is  going  to  become  of  us,  Mary/' 
said  he,  as  they  sat  together,  after  the  children  had  gone 
to  bed.  The  gentleness  and  kindness  of  his  wife's 
manner  had  gradually  subdued  the  state  of  irritability 
that  threatened  so  much  of  evil ;  and  now  he  felt  like 
drawing  nearer  to  her — letting  her  share  his  anxieties, 
and  offer  him  her  sympathy. 

"  Why  do  you  say  this,  Jacob  ?"  Mrs.  Harding  raised 
her  eyes  to  the  sober  face  of  her  husband. 

"  1  haven't  a  stroke  of  work." 

"  How  comes  that  ?"  The  interrogation  was  so  gently 
made,  that  it  encouraged,  instead  of  repressing  confi 
dence. 

"  Dear  knows  !  I  don't  just  understand  it.  To  mo,  it 
seems  very  strange,  that  just  now  work  should  all  stop, 
when  there's  not  been  a  day  before,  in  ten  years,  that  I 
hadn't  as  much  as  I  could  do.  I  promised  Mr.  Grant  to 
call  yesterday  morning  about  putting  a  new  roof  on  his 
barn.  But  you  know  why  I  couldn't  see  him.  He  got 
angry  because  I  didn't  keep  my  appointment,  and  gave 
the  job  to  a  carpenter  over  in  Beechwood." 

"  That's  only  a  single  job,"  said  Mrs.  Harding,  without 
seeming  to  be  in  the  least  troubled  by  the  gloomy  prospect 
before  them.  "  You're  a  good  workman,  that  every  one 
knows.  And  Fve  often  heard  you  say,  that  a  man  who 
does  good  work,  never  need  fear  but  what  he'll  have 
enough  to  do." 

"  Yes,  Mary ;  but  look  how  far  the  season  is  advanced. 
Every  good  job  that  I  expected  has  gone  into  other 
hands,  and  I  don't  know  a  soul  that  now  talks  of  building 
even  a  pig-pen  this  year.  I  feel  completely  disheartened. 
If  we  were  only  a  little  beforehand,  I  wouldn't  feel  so 


196  THE  ANGEL  OF   THE   HOUSEHOLD. 

bad.  But  we  are  not.  Every  thing  is  run  down,  and  I 
haven't  ten  dollars  ahead/' 

Just  then  some  one  knocked  at  the  door.  Harding 
opened  it,  and  found  a  strange  man,  with  a  large  bundle 
in  his  hand.  His  own  name  was  inquired  for. 

"  I  am  the  person,"  he  answered. 

"Mrs.  Beaufort  sent  this  letter  to  you" — handing  a 
letter — "  and  this  bundle  to  Mrs.  Harding" — reaching 
out  the  package. 

"Won't  you  come  in?"  said  the  carpenter,  as  he  re 
ceived  the  letter  and  package. 

"  No,  sir.  It  is  late,  and  I  must  ride  over  to  Clifton 
to-night." 

The  man  departed,  and  Harding  turned  back  into  the 
house.  Breaking  the  seal  of  the  letter  with  unsteady 
hands,  he  opened  it,  and  read — 

"  I  wish  to  see  you  to-morrow.  Come  over  early.  If 
I  am  not  mistaken,  I  can  serve  your  worldly  interests 
materially.  I  learn  that  you  are  a  good  workman,  and 
faithful  in  the  performance  of  whatever  you  may  under 
take.  I  am  about  putting  up  several  outbuildings,  and 
making  some  important  alterations  in  my  house.  It  is 
partly  in  reference  to  these  matters  that  I  wish  to  see 
you.  "  EDITH  BEAUFORT." 

"Within  this  letter,  another,  directed  to  Mrs.  Harding, 
was  enclosed. 

"  0  Jacob  !  Just  see  here  !"  By  the  time  her  hus 
band  had  gathered  the  meaning  of  his  letter,  Mrs.  Hard 
ing  was  in  full  possession  of  the  contents  of  hers.  As 
she  thus  exclaimed,  she  held  up  two  bank  bills,  each 
claiming  the  valuation  of  fifty  dollars,  while  her  face  had 
a  bright,  joyful,  wondering  expression. 

"  Why,  Mary  I"  ejaculated  the  bewildered  carpenter, 
as  he  reached  out  for  the  letter  of  his  wife.  It  read — 


THE  ANGEL  OP  THE  HOUSEHOLD.       197 


"Accept,  dear  madam,  from  one  who  can  never  for 
get,  and  never  repay  the  debt  she  owes  you,  the  enclosed 
as  a  first  act  of  justice.  Use  it  for  yourself  and  children. 
Accept,  also,  a  few  small  presents  for  yourself  and  them. 
I  have  talked  much  with  my  mother  about  you  and  your 
good  husband  since  you  left  us  this  morning;  and  I 
think,  if  there  is  nothing  to  bind  you  to  your  present 
place  of  abode,  that  we  shall  soon  have  you  near  us.  "We 
are  about  making  some  extensive  repairs,  improvements, 
and  alterations  in  and  around  our  home,  and  my  mother 
thinks  that  your  husband  is  just  the  man  to  whom  she 
can  safely  intrust  their  execution.  She  desires  him  to 
see  her  in  the  morning.  Urge  him  to  come  without  fail. 
"  Yours,  with  gratitude, 

"  EDITH  PERCIVAL." 

"  It  is  broad  daylight  now."  Such  were  the  carpen 
ter's  words,  after  sitting  silent  for  some  moments. 

"  The  darkest  hour  is  just  before  daybreak,  you  know," 
said  Mrs.  Harding,  her  eyes  filling  with  glad  tears. 

tl  Providence  never  hedges  up  a  man's  way  in  one 
direction,  without  opening  it  in  another.  So  Mr.  Long 
said  to  me ;  and  so  I  tried  to  believe.  But  how  can  one 
believe  with  a  mountain  rising  up  in  his  path,  and  thick 
darkness  on  either  side  of  him  ?  I  cannot." 

"  But  let  us  not  forget,  Jacob" — Mrs.  Harding' s  voice 
was  subdued,  almost  humble — "what  more  the  school 
master  said  in  his  kind  and  earnest  talks  with  us." 

"  What  did  he  say,  Mary  ?" 

"  That  the  hedging  up  of  our  way  in  life,  and  the 
opening  of  new  paths,  are  not  for  the  alone  sake  of 
worldly  good." 

"  Yes,  I  remember."  The  carpenter  bowed  his  head 
thoughtfully. 

"  But  for  the  sake  of  heavenly  and  eternal  good/' 
continued  Mrs.  Harding.  "  How  much  he  talked  of  our 
17* 


198  THE   ANGEL   OF   THE   HOUSEHOLD. 

mental  wants,  and  of  our  mental  sufferings !  and  as  he 
talked,  did  we  not  both  see  and  feel,  that  mere  bodily 
wants  and  sufferings  were  nothing  in  comparison  to 
these  ?  The  natural  event  of  finding  a  babe  at  our  door, 
which  we  received  with  reluctance,  how  much  delight  of 
mind  it  produced !  Now,  it  was  in  providence,  as  Mr. 
Long  said,  that  the  babe  was  so  left  at  our  door ;  and  does 
it  not  seem,  that  it  was  so  provided  for,  in  order  that, 
through  this  natural  event,  our  spirits  might  become 
better  and  happier  ?  Surely,  we  are  all  better  and  hap 
pier  for  the  presence  of  dear  little  Grace  among  us  ?" 

"  Have  I  not  said  so  a  hundred  times,  Mary  ?"  There 
was  light  in  the  carpenter's  face  as  he  said  this. 

"  And  will  we  not  all  be  better  and  happier,  if  we  can 
be  where  our  eyes,  every  little  while,  may  look  upon  her 
angel  face  ?  Oh  yes,  I  know  we  will,  for  the  sight  of 
that  face  will  lift  our  hearts  upward,  and  make  us  desire 
that  spiritual  innocence  of  which,  as  Mr.  Long  so  beauti 
fully  said,  she  .  was  the  perfect  bodily  correspondent. 
And  the  desire  will  prompt  us  to  resist  the  evils  of  our 
r-*-  "e;  and  if  we  resist  evil,  you  know,  it  is  said  that  it 
1  depart  from  us.  Dear  husband  I" — and  as  Mrs. 
Carding,  animated  with  her  subject,  leaned  toward  him, 
and  laid  her  hand  upon  his  arm,  the  carpenter  saw,  as  of 
late  he  had  seen  so  many  times,  the  sweet  beauty  in  her 
face  that  had  charmed  and  won  his  love  in  the  time  gone 
by — "  dear  husband  !  let  us  believe  that  the  hedging  up 
of  your  way  in  the  old  direction,  and  the  opening  of  it  in 
this,  is  not  so  much  for  the  sake  of  worldly  prosperity 
as  for  the  higher  good  of  our  spirits.  Oh  !  is  not  peace 
of  mind  more  to  be  desired  than  all  earthly  benefits? 
It  is,  Jacob;  my  heart — your  heart — replies  that  it  is. 
Let  us,  then,  in  accepting  the  earthly  good,  look  still 
higher,  and  claim  the  better  portion  that  may  be  ours." 

"You  are  learning  these  wise  lessons  faster  than  I 
am,  Mary/'  said  the  carpenter,  with  a  tenderness  of 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD.       199 


manner  that  went  to  the  heart  of  his  wife.  '{.In  the 
school  of  good  I  shall  be,  I  fear,  a  slow  learner.  But  the 
apter  scholar  must  have  patience  with  my  poor  progress. 
I  am  hasty,  moody,  and  passionate  by  nature,  Mary,  as 
you  know  too  well.  As  you  overcome,  give  me  aid.  If 
you  can  keep  your  heart  in  the  sunlight,  mine  will  not 
long  remain  under  the  cloud.  If  your  sky  continues 
serene,  the  storm  will  soon  pass  from  mine.  Try  and 
remember  this,  Mary,  and  in  my  darker  moods,  bear 
with  me.  You  will  surely  have  your  reward." 

"And  in  my  darker  moods,  Jacob/'  answered  his 
wife — (l  and  they  will  come — for  I,  too,  am  hasty  and 
passionate :  you  must  bear  with  me.  Oh,  let  us  help 
one  another !" 

The  pledges  and  promises  of  that  hour  were  never  for 
gotten,  as  the  brighter,  happier  future  attested.  On 
examining  the  package  sent  by  the  mother,  of  Grace,  it 
was  found  to  contain  various  articles  of  clothing  for*  Mrs. 
Harding  and  her  children,  besides  a  handsome  vest  pat 
tern,  and  a  dozen  .fine  silk  handkerchiefs  for  the  carpen 
ter.  They  were  gratefully  received,  coming,  as  they  did 
so  timely,  and  under  circumstances  that  did  not  make  the 
gift  a  burdening  obligation.  Tranquil  was  their  sleep 
that  night,  and  the  morning  of  a  new  day  found  them 
looking  hopefully  into  the  brightening  future. 


200       THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

A  MONTH  later  in  the  progress  of  events,  and  we  find 
the  carpenter  and  his  family  residing  in  a  small,  neat 
house,  on  the  estate  of  Mrs.  Beaufort,  happily  relieved 
from  all  anxiety  about  the  "  bread  that  perishes,"  and 
surrounded  with  more  of  taste  and  comfort  than  they 
had  ever^  known.  Harding  had  already  entered,  actively, 
upon  the  execution  of  such  work  as  Mrs.  Beaufort  first 
desired,  and,  thus  far,  was  giving  every  satisfaction. 
Why  should  this  not  be  ?  for  he  was  quick  and  skilful 
in  all  the  branches  of  his  trade,  and  perfectly  honest  in 
the  execution  of  whatever  might  be  intrusted  to  him. 
All  that  could  be  done  to  make  Mrs.  Harding's  new 
home  a  pleasant  one  was  done  by  Mrs.  Percival,  who 
came  over,  almost  daily,  to  see  her,  accompanied  by  her 
babe,  whose  visits  to  the  carpenter's  family  ever  seemed 
like  the  shining  in  of  sunbeams.  Grace  was  still  the 
angel  of  their  household,  beating  back  through  her  sweet 
presence  to  their  bodily  eyes,  or,  when  absent,  to  the 
eyes  of  their  spirits,  the  natural  passions,  which,  like  evil 
beasts,  were  striving  to  devour  the  innocent  affections 
just  born  in  their  hearts,  and  which  were  daily  gaining 
strength  and  beauty.  Bright  moments  to  Harding,  -in 
the  day's  circle  of  hours,  were  those  in  which  the  babe, 
borne  in  the  arms  of  her  nurse,  came  out  to  see  him  at 
his  work.  If  he  laid  down  his  axe,  his  saw,  or  his  plane 
at  such  times,  that  he  might  take  the  happy  little  one, 
and  hold  her  against  his  heart,  who  could  blame  the  act, 
or  deem  him  an  idler  from  his  tasks  ?  Not  a  stroke  the 
less  was  given  for  these  moments  of  self-indulgence — if 
we  may  call  them  by  so  cold  a  name — for  they  sent  new 


THE  ANGEL  OP  THE  HOUSEHOLD.       201 


life  through  the  carpenter's  nerves,  and  fresh  vigour  to 
his  willing  hands. 

Only  a  few  weeks  were  permitted  to  pass  ere  the 
public  announcement  of  Edith's  marriage  was  made,  ac 
companied  by  such  evidence  to  all  interested  friends,  as 
removed  even  the  shadow  of  doubt  or  suspicion.  The 
fact  of  the  babe's  abandonment  by  its  mother  at  the  door 
of  a  stranger,  was  never  clearly  understood.  That  it  had 
been  in  the  carpenter's  family  was  known;  but  under 
what  peculiar  circumstances  it  came  there,  was  a  matter 
of  question  even  to  the  neighbours  of  Harding.  Beyond 
this  narrow  circle,  it  was  taken  for  granted,  that  in  order 
to  conceal  the  marriage  and  birth  of  the  child,  Mrs. 
Harding  had  been  selected  as  the  nurse,  and  pledged  to 
secrecy  in  regard  to  its  parentage.  Even  among  the  car 
penter's  old  neighbours,  this  theory  finally  prevailed,  in 
consequence  of  its  adoption  by  Miss  Gimpi 

"I  always  said" — so  the  dressmaker  gossiped,  after 
having  settled  to  her  own  satisfaction  all  the  difficulties 
presented  by  the  case — "that  Mrs.  Harding  knew  a 
great  deal  more  about  the  child  than  she  cared  to  tell. 
I  said  this  in  the  beginning,  and  I've  never  altered  my 
mind.  You  can't  make  me  believe  that  people  like  the 
Hardings  would  take  a  strange  babe  into  their  house,  and 
treat  it  even  better  than  one  of  their  own,  unless  well 
paid  for  it.  It  isn't  in  nature,  much  less  in  the  nature 
of  such  people." 

And  this  solution  of  the  matter  was  pretty  generally 
adopted,  thus  saving  the  young  mother  that  crushing 
odium  which  must  have  followed  the  clear  annunciation 
of  her  act,  even  done  as  it  was  in  a  state  of  partial 
derangement. 

Two  months  only  had  passed,  since  Edith  was  pre 
sented  to  her  friends  in  her  true  character,  when  Colonel 
D'Arcy,  not  to  be  baffled  in  the  pursuit  of  her  hand, 
wrote  her  a  long,  earnest  letter  of  sympathy  and  con- 


202       THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD. 


fidence,  begging  forgiveness  at  the  same  time  for  the 
ardour  of  his  attentions  at  a  period  when  she  must  have 
been  bowed  to  the  earth  with  sorrow — a  sorrow  of  which 
he  was  "  necessarily  ignorant" — and  asking  the  privilege 
of  occasionally  visiting  at  her  mother's  house  as  a  friend. 
Not  to  leave  the  matter  solely  to  her  unbiassed  decision, 
the  gallant  colonel  wrote  also  to  Mrs.  Beaufort,  mention 
ing  his  letter  to  her  daughter;  and  frankly  saying  to 
her  that,  notwithstanding  the  secret  marriage  of  Edith, 
and  birth  of  a  child,  now  that  her  husband  was  dead,  he 
was  ready  again  to  offer  his  hand.  Instantly,  the  smoul 
dering  ambition  of  this  proud  woman  was  fanned  into  a 
blaze ;  and,  once  more,  she  resolved  to  compass,  if  pos 
sible,  the  long-desired  marriage  of  her  daughter.  The 
acknowledgment  of  Edith's  true  relation — that  of  the 
widowed  wife  of  an  obscure,  young  adventurer — would, 
she  had  not  doubted,  at  once  settle  all  so  far  as  D'Arcy 
was  concerned;  and  this  was  why  she  strove  so  despe 
rately  to  prevent  its  taking  place.  In  consenting  to  pub 
licity,  she  had  abandoned  her  ambitious  hopes.  Now, 
they  all  started  again  into  vigorous  life.  The  hand  of 
her  daughter  was  yet  deemed  worthy  of  possession,  even 
by  Colonel  D'Arcy ;  the  marriage,  so  dear  to  her  heart, 
might  yet  be  accomplished;  and  she  instantly  resolved 
that  its  failure  should  not  be  in  consequence  of  any  want 
of  effort  on  her  part. 

The  two  letters  came  by  the  same  post.  Edith  had 
just  finished  reading  hers,  when  Mrs.  Beaufort,  the  ar 
dour  of  whose  reawakened  purpose  impelled  to  an  imme 
diate  interview  with  her  daughter,  entered  the  room 
where  she  sat,  with  the  flush  of  outraged  womanhood  yet 
warm  upon  her  cheeks. 

"  Is  your  letter  from  Colonel  D'Arcy  ?"  inquired  the 
mother,  slightly  hesitating,  in  the  conscious  conviction 
that  the  subject  would  be  disagreeable. 

(t  It  is,"  was  Edith's  simple  yet  firm  response. 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD.       203 

"  He  knows  of  your  marriage  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  May  I  see  your  letter  ?" 

Edith  handed  the  letter  to  her  mother,  who,  after 
reading  it,  said — 

"  What  answer  will  you  make  ?" 

"  None/'  was  replied. 

"  None  !     That  will  be  uncourteous." 

"  He  is  entitled  to  no  courtesy  from  me,"  was  the  de 
cisive  answer,  "  and  will  get  none." 

"  But,  Edith" — Mrs.  Beaufort's  face  was  flushing,  and 
her  eyes  beginning  to  glitter. 

"  Mother  !" — Edith  interrupted  her — "  what  I  have 
said  to  you,  hitherto,  about  this  man,  was  said  from  the 
heart;  and  I  give  it  a  repeated  utterance,  hardly  re 
pressing  a  cry  of  abhorrence.  His  very  name  is  an 
offence;  and  his  presence  here,  if  you  permit  him  to 
come,  will  be  to  me  an  outrage.  I  understand  the  hidden 
import  of  his  glossing  letter  clearly ;  but  he  writes  to  me 
in  vain.  No — not  even  as  a  friend  will  I  receive  him. 
Mother ! " 

A  hurried  step  was  heard  this  instant  in  the  hall,  and 
Edith,  checking  the  utterance  of  what  was  on  her  tongue, 
started,  with  eager  eyes  and  changing  cheeks,  to  the 
floor.  With  hands  raised  and  partly  extended,  and  her 
gaze  riveted  on  the  entrance  to  the  room,  she  stood, 
her  ear  bent  to  the  sounding  tread  of  a  man's  ap 
proaching  feet.  An  instant  more,  and  uttering  wildly 
the  cry — 

"  Henry  !  Oh,  my  husband  !  my  husband  !"  she 
threw  herself  upon  the  breast  of  a  tall,  handsome,  em 
browned  young  man,  who  sprung  forward  to  receive  her, 
and  catching  her  eagerly  in  his  arms,  covered  her  face 
with  kisses. 

"  0  Henry !  am  I  dreaming  ?"  sobbed  the  bewildered 
young  creature,  as,  disengaging  herself  partly  from  his 


204       THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD. 


arms,  she  gazed  into  his  face,  pressing  the  hair  back  with 
both  hands  from  his  ample  forehead. 

"Not  dreaming,  Edith,  dear,"  he  answered.  "The 
dream  is  past — this  is  the  glad  awakening." 

"  My  husband !  My  dear,  dear  husband  !"  And, 
fondly,  Edith  laid  her  head  upon  his  bosom.  A  moment 
only  it  rested  there ;  then,  starting  up,  she  caught  him 
by  the  arm,  and,  drawing  him  toward  a  door  that  opened 
into  an  adjoining  room,  said — 

"  Come." 

He  followed,  as  she  led. 

"Look!" 

They  had  entered,  and  were  beside  a  cradle  in  which 
their  babe  was  sleeping. 

"It  is  ours,  Henry! — our  sweet,  precious  one! — our 
darling  Grace  !"  And  lifting  it  tenderly,  she  laid  it  in 
his  arms. 

As  if  a  blasting  spectre  had  met  her  vision,  Mrs. 
Beaufort  fled  to  her  chamber  at  the  sight  of  Percival, 
and  was  now  hidden  from  all  eyes  but  those  of  her 
Maker.  She  had  fully  believed  him  dead,  and  had  re 
joiced  in  his  death  j  his  sudden  appearance,  therefore, 
was  as  of  one  risen  from  the  dead.  His  coming,  too, 
just  as  old  schemes,  so  long  cherished,  were  about  being 
reconstructed,  to  scatter  all  her  mad  ambition  to  the 
wind,  seemed  so  like  Heaven's  mockery,  that,  with  a 
crushed,  helpless  feeling,  she  shrunk  into  herself,  and 
bowed  her  spirit  in  the  bitterness  of  forced  submission. 

Two  hours  afterward — Edith,  who  knew  her  too  well 
to  intrude  during  the  time,  had  not  even  tapped  at  her 
chamber-door — she  came  forth,  and  received  the  husband 
of  her  daughter  with  a  degree  of  cordiality  altogether 
unexpected. 

"We  believed  you  dead,  Mr.  Percival,"  said  she. 
"  Can  you  explain  why  we  were  deceived  by  false  intelli 
gence  ?  Mr.  Maris  wrote  to  us,  first,  that  you  were  very 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD.       205 

ill,  and  soon  after,  that  you  had  died  of  a  malignant 
southern  fever." 

"I  was  ill,  very  ill,  for  a  time,"  the  young  man 
answered,  "  but  not  of  a  malignant  southern  fever.  The 
physician  at  the  hospital  to  which  I  was  sent  to  die,  and 
where,  in  providence,  I  was  permitted  to  recover,  strongly 
suspected  that  I  had  been  unfairly  dealt  by — some  of  my 
symptoms  resembling  in  a  marked  degree  the  effects  of 
poison/' 

"  Poison  !"  Mrs.  Beaufort  looked  started  as  she  gave 
almost  involuntary  utterance  to  the  word. 

"  Yes ;  and  I  have  now  but  little  doubt  that  such  was 
the  case ;  for  I  learn,  with  no  small  surprise,  that  after 
my  reported  death,  Colonel  D'Arcy  renewed  his  offers 
for  the  hand  of  Edith/' 

"  Colonel  D'Arcy  !  What  of  him  ?  What  had  he  to 
do  with  your  sickness?"  Mrs.  Beaufort's  countenance 
became  suddenly  clouded. 

"  I  know  not  that  he  had  any  thing  to  do  with  it," 
replied  Percival  j  "  but  this  I  know,  he  was  a  friend  of 
Mr.  Maris,  and  visited  him  on  the  night  I  was  taken 
sick.  They  drank  wine  together,  and  both  urged  me 
with  such  gracious  kindness  to  take  a  glass  of  sherry 
with  them,  that  I  could  not  refuse.  Colonel  D'Arcy 
touched  his  glass  to  mine,  and  said,  in  a  singularly 
altered  voice,  so  it  struck  me  at  the  moment — 

" l  Your  good  health,  Mr.  Percival/ 

"  I  did  not  like  the  man,  for  out  of  his  eyes  an  evil 
spirit  had  ever  looked  at  me.  On  this  particular  occa 
sion,  that  spirit  seemed  to  glare  upon  me  with  a  kind  of 
malignant  triumph.  Soon  after  drinking  the  wine,  I 
felt  an  unusual  heat  in  my  stomach,  which  gradually 
pervaded  my  system.  My  head  grew  heavy  and  painful, 
and  my  body  hot  and  sluggish.  On  complaining  of  in 
disposition,  Mr.  Maris  advised  me  to  go  home,  saying 
that  a  few  hours'  rest  would  restore  me.  But  so  far 

18 


206       THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD. 


from  that,  I  was  in  a  raging  fever  all  night,  and  early  on 
the  next  morning,  at  his  suggestion,  as  I  afterward 
learned  of  Mr.  Maris,  I  was  sent  to  the  hospital  to  die. 
An  ordinary  fever  would  have  run  to  its  crisis,  termi 
nating  in  favour  of  or  against  the  patient,  in  a  certain 
number  of  days ;  but  the  fever  which  had  seized  upon 
me  was  altogether  different,  and  seemed  as  if  it  would 
never  tire  drinking  at  my  vitals.  When,  at  last,  its  fire 
abated,  I  was  left  so  much  exhausted,  that  small  hope  of 
recovery  was  felt  by  either  physician  or  attendants.  It 
was  more  than  two  months  before  strength  sufficient  to 
bear  the  weight  of  my  body  was  gained.  Then  the  life- 
current  began  to  flow  more  freely ;  and  a  few  weeks  of 
rapid  convalescence  placed  me  so  near  to  health,  that  I 
ventured  to  make  this  homeward  journey.'  Soon  after  I 
was  taken  to  the  hospital,  a  man  named  Henry  Percival 
died  in  one  of  the  sick  wards.  Mr.  Maris,  I  suppose, 
took  it  for  granted  that  my  death  was  the  one  reported, 
and  immediately  communicated  the  fact  to  you." 

For  a  considerable  time  -after  the  young  man  ceased 
speaking,  Mrs.  Beaufort  sat  with  her  eyes  upon  the  floor, 
evidently  in  deep  and  troubled  thought. 

"  There's  a  dark  mystery  here,"  she  said,  at  length, 
speaking  partly  to  herself.  ^  Mr.  Maris,  then,  is  a  par 
ticular  friend  of  Colonel  D'Arcy  ?"  she  added,  raising  her 
eyes. 

"They  appeared  to  be  very  intimate.  I  often  saw 
them  together." 

"It's  a  strange  story."  She  again  seemed  speaking 
to  herself.  "  And  I  can't  make  it  all  out.  Colonel 
D'Arcy  ?— Mr.  Maris  ?— poison  ?" 

As  Percival  looked  at  her  fixedly,  he  saw  a  low  shudder 
pass  through  her  frame.  A  dark  suspicion  entered  his 
mind  on  the  instant,  but  he  resolutely  thrust  it  out ;  and, 
in  doing  so,  he  was  but  just  to  Mrs.  Beaufort.  If  he  had 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD.       207 

been  dealt  by  foully,  of  which  there  was  small  reason  to 
doubt,  she  was  no  party  to  the  wicked  deed. 

A  few  days  afterward,  Colonel  D'Arcy,  following  up 
his  letters  with  a  degree  of  confident  assurance,  made  a 
visit  to  Clifton,  in  order  to  throw  the  weight  of '  his  per 
sonal  influence  in  the  scale,  and  thus  secure  a  prepon 
derance  in  his  favour. 

Mrs.  Beaufort,  now  that  all  blinding  antagonism  toward 
Percival  was  laid  aside,  and  closer  contact  gave  her  a  bet 
ter  view  of  his  character  and  a  clearer  appreciation  of  his 
worth,  began  to  find  herself  drawn  toward  him  with  a 
power  of  attraction,  at  first  resisted,  but  hourly  gaining 
strength.  His  intelligence  was  of  a  different  order  from 
that  by  whose  glitter  she  had  been  attracted  througBni|$. 
It  was  not  the  obtrusive  intelligence  which  is  assumed 
for  effect — illustrating  only  the  pride  of  its  possessor — 
but  had  in  it  a  soul  of  moral  wisdom — a  beautiful  hu 
manity,  warm  with  a  higher  life.  Often,  as  he  talked, 
she  listened  with  something  akin  to  wonder ;  and,  as  her 
eyes  rested  upon  his  animated  countenance,  she  saw  in  it 
a  manly  beauty,  caught  from  the  inspiring  soul,  that  com 
pelled  a  half-reluctant  admiration.  Not  unfrequently,  at 
these  times,  would  the  face  of  Colonel  D'Arcy  present 
itself  before  the  eyes  of  her  mind  with  singular  vividness, 
yet  ever  marred  by  an  expression,  well  remembered  as 
peculiarly  its  own,  but  now,  as  seen  in  contrast  with  the 
fine  countenance  of  Percival,  felt  to  be  cruel,  selfish,  and 
debasingly  sensual.  Almost  with  a  shudder,  at  such 
times,  would  she  close  her  bodily  eyes,  seeking  to  destroy 
the  unpleasant  vision.  It  was  on  an  occasion  like  this 
that  the  servant  announced  Colonel  D'Arcy. 

"  Impossible  1"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Beaufort,  thrown  en 
tirely  from  her  guard. 

The  name  was  repeated. 

"  Tell  him  that  I  will  be  down  in  a  few  minutes/'  she 
said,  recovering  herself. 


208  THE   ANGEL   OF   THE    HOUSEHOLD. 


For  some  moments  the  three  looked  at  each  other  in 
doubt  and  irresolution.  All  of  them  knew  well  the  object 
of  his  visit.  Percival  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"  Let  us/'  said  he,  "  go  down  together  and  receive  him. 
He  thinks  I  am  dead,  if  he  thinks  of  me  at  all.  Should 
my  suspicions  be  true,  at  sight  of  me  he  will  be  thrown 
from  his  guard  and  betray  himself.  Come  !  Let  us  go  at 
once/' 

And  he  arose,  moving  on  a  pace  or  two  in  the  direction 
of  the  door.  Mrs.  Beaufort  and  Edith  followed,  as  if  im 
pelled  by  his  will — the  latter  carrying  Grace  in  her  arms. 

Side  by  side  they  entered  the  parlour  where  D'Arcy  sat 
awaiting  some  member  of  the  family. 

"  Colonel  D'Arcy  I" 

Mrs.  Beaufort  inclined  her  body  gracefully,  and  smiled 
upon  her  visitor  with  a  bland  smile.  But  he  saw  not  the 
motion  nor  the  smile,  for  his  eyes  were  riveted  instantly 
on  the  calm  face  of  Percival,  who,  with  his  young  wife 
shrinking  to  his  side  and  holding  her  babe  against  her 
bosom,  looked  at  him  steadily  and  sternly.  Only  for  a 
moment  did  he  stand  in  the  attitude  of  astonishment  as 
sumed  as  the  unexpected  apparition  confronted  him — 
then,  with  a  look  of  dismay  and  a  exclamation  of  terror, 
he  swept  past  the  little  group  and  fled  from  the  house. 

"  I  did  not  err  in  my  suspicions,"  said  Percival,  speak 
ing  with  entire  self-possession.  u  He  is  guilty  of  having 
sought  my  life.  Dear  Edith  !"  he  added,  as  he  drew  an 
arm  around  her,  and  pressed  his  lips  to  her  pure  forehead 
— "  how  thankful  am  I  for  your  dear  sake  that  his  wicked 
purpose  failed." 

"  My  children  !" 

The  arms  of  Mrs.  Beaufort  were  flung  suddenly  around 
them  both. 

1  'My  children !" 

Her  voice  choked,  and  what  she  would  have  said  further, 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD.       209 

remained  unspoken.     Pride  could  not  suffer  her  to  betray 
the  strong  agitation  she  felt. 

There  were  a  few  moments  of  silence.  Then  she  dis 
engaged  her  arms,  and  turning  from  them,  retired  with 
slow  and  stately  steps  to  her  own  apartments. 


One  scene  more,  briefly  sketched,  and  the  curtain  must 
fall  upon  our  characters. 

A  few  months  have  glided  pleasantly  by.  The  nearer 
view  that  Mrs.  Beaufort  now  had  of  the  son-in-law  ac 
cepted  with  such  an  intense  reluctance,  enabled  her  to 
see  the  higher  qualities  of  mind  with  which  he  was  en 
dowed  j  as  well  as  the  sterling  virtues  already  developed 
in  one  so  young.  Her  estates  were  large,  and  needed  the 
intelligent  care  of  a  man  who  had  some  acquaintance  with 
legal  and  landed  affairs.  This  knowledge,  the  education 
of  Percival  had  in  a  measure  supplied  ]  and  his  calm 
judgment  and  integrity  of  purpose  were  a  guarantee  for 
the  rest  that  Mrs.  Beaufort  was  very  ready  to  accept :  and 
the  result  involved  no  measure  of  disappointment. 

So  well  pleased  was  she  with  our  friend  the  carpenter, 
that  she  soon  made  a  contract  with  him  to  remain  as 
overseer  on  her  estate,  at  a  liberal  salary. 

It  was  a  warm  afternoon  near  the  close  of  the  ensuing 
May,  that  Mrs.  Percival  stepped  across  the  broad  green 
lawn  that  sloped  gently  from  her  mother's  fine  old  man 
sion,  and  took  her  way  to  the  pleasant  cottage-home  of 
the  carpenter  and  his  family,  that  stood  only  at  a  short 
distance.  On  entering,  she  found  no  one  in  the  sitting- 
room  ;  but,  with  the  familiarity  of  a  friend  who  knows 
the  awaiting  welcome  at  all  times,  she  pushed  open  the 
door  of  the  adjoining  apartment,  when  a  sight  met  her 
18* 


210       THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD. 

eyes  that  made  the  blood  leap  warmer  from  her  heart. 
A  week  before,  had  been  born  in  that  chamber,  another 
babe ;  and  it  was  to  see  the  mother  and  inquire  after  her 
wants,  if  any  were  unsupplied,  that  Mrs.  Percival  had 
now  come.  She  supposed  that  Harding  was  absent  at 
work ;  but  this  was  not  so.  The  fact  was,  scarcely  an 
hour  passed  during  each  day,  since  the  little  stranger 
came,  that  he  did  not  run  in  to  look  at  its  fair  young 
face,  or  take  it  in  his  great,  strong  arms,  and  bear  it  about 
the  room.  He  was  sitting  now  near  the  bed,  where  lay 
his  happy  wife,  with  her  face  turned  toward  him  and  the 
babe ;  and  he  was  holding  the  tender  little  one  on  his 
arm,  and  gazing  with  a  look  that  could  not  be  mistaken 
for  love,  down  upon  the  sweet  image  of  innocence. 
Around  were  grouped  the  children,  and  little  Lotty, 
standing  between  her  father's  knees,  was  laying  her  white 
finger  softly  on  the  baby's  cheek,  and  talking  to  it 
fondly. 

As  Mrs.  Percival  swung  open  the  door,  and  at  a  glance 
comprehended  the  scene,  she  said,  with  a  pleasant  fami 
liarity  that  her  previous  intercourse  with  them  war 
ranted — 

"  Ah  !  nursing  that  baby  again,  Mr.  Harding  ?  Why, 
one  would  think  you'd  never  had  a  baby  in  your  house 
before  !" 

"  We  never  knew  the  value  of  a  baby,"  replied  the 
carpenter,  "  until  yours  came  to  us  and  won  our  hearts. 
Ah  !  She  was  the  Angel  of  our  Household,  and  it  was  a 
hard  trial  to  see  her  go  forth  never  to  return  again.  But 
God  has  given  us  another  angel." 

"  And  may  she  be  dearer  to  you  than  the  one  you  have 
lost,"  said  Mrs.  Percival,  as  she  reached  over  and  took 
the  precious  burden  from  the  arms  of  Mr.  Harding. 
"  Have  you  chosen  a  name  for  it  yet  ?" 

Mrs.  Harding  glanced  toward  her  husband. 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD.       211 

"  It  was  chosen  the  hour  of  her  birth/'  answered  the 
carpenter. 

"  Is  it  Grace  ?" 

Mrs.  Percival  smiled  as  she  made  the  inquiry. 

"  No  other  name  would  express  our  love  for  her.  Yes, 
it  is  Grace  !" 

"  May  she  indeed  prove,  as  I  am  sure  she  will,  the 
Angel  of  your  Household/'  said  Mrs.  Percival,  with  touch 
ing  solemnity. 

An  audible  "  Amen"  broke  the  stillness  that  followed; 
and,  as  we  repeat  the  word,  the  curtain  falls. 


THE  ENtf, 


STEREOTYPED  BY  L.  JOHNSON  AND  CO. 
PHILADELPHIA. 


IETURN     CIRCULATION  DEPARTMENT 

202  Main  Librar 
OAN  PERIOD  1 
HOME  USE 


^ 

1-year  loans  ma/^  cecnarged  Oy  winging  the  boons  to  the  Circulation  Desk 
Renewals  and  recharoes  may  be  made  4  days  prior  to  due  date 

DUE  AS  STAMPED  BELOW 


FEB121984 


m 


;|RCULAT!ON  DE! 


JUN  04  1993 



AUTO  DISC  due 

,  i5'£3 



AUTO  DISC  CIRC  AU 

123*93 

•  

JUN  101994"  ~|*     ~2l998 
^V? 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  E 


U.C.BERKELEY  LIBRARIES 


M11G081 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


